


Heartless

by humorous



Series: The Heartless Duology [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-03-02 04:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 30,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humorous/pseuds/humorous
Summary: The Winter Soldier was only the beginning. There was always an insurance plan, and now is the time for Asset 53. Now is the time for Hydra to rise.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This book does not need to be read with The Haven Duology, but her story will be intertwined with that of that series!

It was rainingwhen they came for her. When they killed her parents.

The day before was for preparing. The day that would follow was the most dreaded day of the young girl's life. She found this fact mildly amusing, as it was always Sundays that caused her the most uneasiness because those were the Holy days. The days of 1572 weren't what she would call progressive in terms of religious freedom.

Protestants like her and her parents were never safe, it seemed. Even though the wars between the Catholics and Huguenots had broken out when she was just two, her parents always reminded her that the tension had been building for years prior.

" _Les guerres viennent peut-être de commencer, ma chérie, mais la haine était déjà là_ ," her  _père_  warned her on nights like these.  _The wars may have just begun, my dear, but the hatred was already there._

She supposed this was true, based on the general consensus of the large group surrounding her. Most of the Protestants left in France were men who had had enough of  _les_   _complots_ and schemes of Catherine d' Medici, the controlling and seemingly immortal mother of King Charles IX. The royal line had always spoken of religious freedom in their country and promised its citizens that while Catholicism was the preferred faith of the Royals, any daughter of France was welcome to pursue the faith that she desired.

Of course, French royalty was especially known for its slippery way of manipulating the past to shape the future. When a German monk called Martin Luther renounced the ways of the Catholic Church in 1517, any thought of religious freedom was dismissed to be a figment of a person's imagination. Catholicism was declared the official religion of France, and any practice other than that of the French court was considered heresy of the highest order. What was once considered a strong suggestion by the king was now a direct order, one which was punishable by hanging if disobeyed.

The young girl shivered despite the warm summer breeze that rustled the many layers of her skirts. " _Maman_?" She asked, searching the growing crowd of Huguenots for her mother. " _Où êtes-vous allé_?" Ducking around a small group of men who were praying in hushed voices, their words slurring together so fast that they were unrecognizable, the girl anxiously turned her head back and forth, waiting to find her parents.

" _Jacqueline,_ there you are," her father called from somewhere behind her, weaving through the dirty skirts and pants of the working class French men and women that had gathered that night. "The service is about to start, where have you been?"

She looked up at her father and furrowed her eyebrows. "I didn't move, Papa. I stayed right where you told me to." She crossed her arms and huffed, "It was  _you_ who left  _me_."

Her father's gray eyes sparkling in the moonlight, she saw him reach out for her and envelope her in his grasp. "Oh,  _ma chérie_ , I would never leave you. You know that, don't you?" He peered into his daughter's eyes, pride swelling in his chest at the way she smiled at him, utterly and completely trusting in him.

When the young girl nodded, she released her father and took his hand, following his lead as they took their place in the dark cellar of her house where the others were waiting.

The Protestant movement, even in such a small village as hers, had to congregate in secret every week, often in the middle of the night and at different places. Jacqueline's father had offered up their small house as the next location for the Saturday service, admitting that while the cellar was less-than-satisfactory, it would hold enough people to compose a well-lit service for them. So, the day before had been spent preparing the space to hold the maximum amount of people it could. Jacqueline and her mother, despite the scandalized looks from the farmers that lived nearby, loaded all of the vegetables and stored goods into the far corners of the cellar and cleared as much space as absolutely possible for the gathering the following night.

Now, it was finally here.

" _Bonsoir_ ," the acting pastor called out gently, the rumblings of the cellar fading down to silence in the candle-lit space. "May the Lord's peace and grace be with you all on this honorary service for Saint Bartholomew, one of Christ's apostles."

"And also with you," the congregation responded, and they all bowed their heads to pray.

* * *

 

The rain had started around halfway through the service, pounding on the ceiling and startling the ragged group of faithful people in Jacqueline's cellar. When one man went up to confirm that it was just the weather, the crowd visibly calmed down and returned to the sanctity of the moment.

Jacqueline liked to close her eyes in the darkness. That way, she didn't see any shadows. The candles, though helpful in breaking the solid darkness, only cast long shapes along the walls of the cellar that made her squeeze her father's hand tightly.  _I'm twelve years old now,_ she would always reprimand herself.  _I'm old enough to know that nothing can hurt me when I'm in the cellar. It's just a few shadows._

They were just about to start handing out Holy Communion with day-old bread and sour wine when the pounding became louder and more frantic. Jacqueline's head shot upward, opening her eyes as if to see through the floorboards above them.  _Something's wrong._ One glance at her mother's kind face was enough to know that she wasn't the only one who had sensed it. But when she looked at her father, her heart clenched as she saw his determination and an easygoing smile on his lips.

"It's just the Holy Father," he called out, "raining down his blessings upon this holy night." Still, he moved to step over to the cellar stairs, opening the door to peer out into the rain.

Jacqueline followed her father with her eyes and stepped back as she saw a dark figure standing outside, a black hood hanging over his eyes and a large club clutched lazily in his hand. The room went completely silent, everyone holding their breath as if that would keep the stranger, no doubt one of Catherine's men, from spotting them and taking them to be hanged in front of the whole country.

" _Qui  êtes-vous_?" Her father demanded angrily.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, in one fluid motion, the club swung up and collided with the side of her father's face, causing him to leave the ground and soar a few feet to the right, crashing into the cement ground. The rapidly growing puddle of blood that surrounded his head like a halo told her that her father would not rise again.

A strangled scream fell from her lips and she fell to her knees as at least half of the group surged for the door, maybe thinking that if they could overwhelm the vigilante, they could run into the night and escape this inevitable fate. Others huddled in the corners, circling around each other and offering frantic prayers to their God that they hoped would listen.

As the group at the door quickly learned, the stray vigilante was not, in fact, a stray; a multitude of men in the same attire came to stand on his sides, others parading down the steps into the cellar itself. Jacqueline felt her mother's shaky hands on her waist as she was pulled further into the darkness. They were cornered like sheep, waiting for the merciless death that would no doubt follow.

Jacqueline hadn't thought about death very often in her twelve years of life. But now, it was the only thing she could think about. The image of her father's blood spilling out onto the floor was tattooed in her mind, never to leave it for as long as she lived. This night had already turned into one that she would never forget.

One of the vigilantes stood in front of her, the shadow of the hood keeping his face  _dans l'obscurité_. For a second, he just stood there, as if contemplating what to do with them. The screams of the Huguenots surrounding them were filled with terror, some of them gurgling with blood that rose in their throats. It seemed that the screaming would never end, that it would go on forever, so long that Catholicism would truly become the only religion in France.

He reached out and clamped his strong hand on Jacqueline's thin arm and yanked her away from her mother, who was too weak to keep her in her hands. "Please, not my baby," her mother pleaded, "she is just a  _child_ , she is too young to die,  _je vous en prie, s'il vous_   _plaît_!" She begged as Jacqueline was carried away, thrown over his shoulder like a bale of hay.

Tears stained her cheeks as he carried her into the night, rain pounding on her body and washing together with tears. " _Maman, Papa, où êtes-vous_?" She called out, sobs wracking her chest and leaving her voice raw. " _Maman, Papa, je t'aime..._ "

She was hauled on top of a horse that was waiting at the edge of the wood, roughly hanging there. When she tried to sit up, she was merely pushed back down so she was laying on her stomach, nose pressed into the strong muscles of the animal. Only when her captor was straddling the horse himself was she picked up and held tightly to his chest to ensure that she didn't fall off. Cracking the reins, the horse sped off into the woods, the screams of her neighbors swallowed up by the thick forestry and the loud rain.

One glance around showed her four more horses, young children that looked like her held fast in the evil men's grips.  _Where are they taking me?_ She asked desperately, though she knew that question would never be answered. So she prayed. " _Our Father, who art in Heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come_ —"

"Ah, pray to your God, see if he listens," her kidnapper hissed in her ear, rancid breath making her cringe.

"He's your God, too," she spoke bravely, trying to twist around and see what kind of man would take a child in the name of Catholicism.

He scoffed. "There is no God, little one. I am my own God."

She faced forward, shocked by his words. He renounced the existence of a Holy Father. He wasn't a Huguenot, and he apparently wasn't a Catholic. If he wasn't one of Catherine's lackeys, then  _who was he?_

"Now you settle in, little one," the man mocked her, holding her painfully tight against his chest. "It's going to be a long night for you and your new friends."

Jacqueline could feel the shock rising to her head, climbing through every passageway and barrier in her body to send a shot of warmth to her head. In a red haze that washed over her eyes, she closed her eyes and fell limp against her abductor.

As the dizzying ground moved quicker and quicker beneath her, she was taken into the darkness, but not before she heard two words that made her blood run cold.

" _Heil Hydra_!"


	2. Mission Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys like this!

_[june 2016]_

The moon illuminated her path down the winding road, her dark brown hair swinging across her face in the slight breeze that cooled her boiling veins. She breathed in short puffs of air, forcing the oxygen in and out of her lungs.

She knew what she was about to do, but her brain couldn't stop her from doing it. No one could, because no one was stronger than Hydra. Not even  _him_ , the hunk of muscle and haunted memories,  _the Winter Soldier_. Even he couldn't get them out of his brain. Especially not now, not after he almost killed every one of his little army of friends.  _The Avengers_.

The cool blade of a silver knife rested against her thigh underneath her dress, calming her nerves. Most of them would prefer a gun, a more efficient weapon. But not her. Not Asset 53. She favored the kill, she relished the look of the life leaving her victims' eyes.

Maybe she was a sadist for it, but she didn't mind. She was only doing a job.

Her eyes landed on the wooden, stained red front door of her victim's house. She grinned. Tonight's mission would be accomplished too easily unless they put up a fight.  _Even so_ , she thought as she deftly picked the lock,  _this'll be as easy as cutting through hot butter._

Her lips curled back into an anticipatory sneer. She could practically smell the blood rushing through her target's veins, keeping her alive as she slept through the night that would quickly become her last.

It felt as if she were gliding across the smooth wooden floors, her boots designed for fast getaways(not that she ever needed them). There were only three sounds in the house: the grumbling of the refrigerator, the hum of the electricity running through the house like veins, and the small breaths that were inhaled and exhaled by a dead man.

Perhaps it was her heightened senses that made Asset 53 so different. The ability to sense danger before anyone felt the wind shift on their face, or to smell out an enemy before they appeared around a corner, they set her apart from the rest. From every single one of them.

Walking silently through the house without waking her victim was a feat easily achieved due to the mounds of papers scattered on the floor, a narrow path leading to the bedroom. With a quick glance to a particularly large manila folder stuffed full of what had to be the astrophysicist's seemingly meaningless scribbles, she read the scrambled letters, her training in language letting the Norwegian words rise to the forefront of her mind:

_Skjulestedet for torden gud._

The hiding place of the God of Thunder.

 _Curious,_ the asset smirked to herself and clutched the folder in her hand, itching to open it and read its contents, but she reminded herself of the inevitable consequences if that were to happen. Her superiors saw everything, and she would no doubt lose her high place in Hydra's ranks if she disobeyed a direct order. Still, she was sure that these documents would prove to be useful.

Placing it back on the table and planning to come for it as she left, the asset felt a satisfied warmth trickle to her hand that would hold the dagger. This discovery had undoubtedly made this mission  _much_ quicker.

The dark bedroom was stuffy from the Norwegian man asleep in his bed. She felt her hands start to tingle, her nerves kicking into high gear.  _It's so close_ , she smiled in the dim room, and she reached for the sheath on her thigh, pulling out the long, deadly blade. It glinted in the moon's gaze shining in through the opened window, making it look more like a historical artifact than her murder weapon of choice.

Padding up to the bedside, she stared down at the scientist's peaceful face. A multitude of creases had appeared over the years, damaging his otherwise youthful face. Years of studying Norse mythology had had a rather... _insane_  effect on him. His eyelids, previously shut in a rare bout of calm sleep, had opened with the sense of someone standing over him. Eyes wide and face twisted in terror, he threw his hands up and yelled, "Svarte helvete?!"  _What the hell?!_ Then, in accented, rough English, he continued, "Who the fuck are you?"

The assassin standing over her only sneered maliciously, savoring the look of horror on Eric Selvig's face. "Wouldn't you like to know," she chuckled, raising her knife.

She brought it down with force and watched as the white sheets became drowned in red blood, dripping down onto the floor and sinking into the leather of her boots.

A wry smile rose to her lips as she used the bedsheets to wipe her boots clean of the substance, marching away from the Norwegian professor and collecting the folder that promised the location of Thor.

With a renewed spring in her step, Asset 53 exited the house and calmly walked along the moonlit street, a bloody knife sheathed in its place against her thigh.

Just a few yards away, Eric Selvig felt the life leave his veins, a pang of terror remaining in his mind's eye.  _Someone is coming for them,_  he thought frantically, but the energy was gone before he could usher another thought.

* * *

 

She slipped into numbness on the helicopter ride back to Hydra's headquarters. Like usual, a blindfold was shoved over her eyes as soon as the chopper left the ground. It didn't feel like an insult anymore; she liked the darkness. It was the time of night during which Asset 53 operated the best.

Leaning her head back on the headrest, the asset pretended to sleep. The poor "bodyguards" assigned to transport her back and forth between missions would never get used to her presence, it seemed. Of course, being around an asset like her was something no one volunteered to do, so her guards acted in shifts.

She'd found that if she didn't speak and remained perfectly still, it would offer the four bodyguards a bit of a break from looking over their shoulder to make sure she wasn't killing anything for fun. It seemed like she actually cared about their concerns, but in all truth, it was worth the hours of complete stillness once she was able to jerk "awake" and let out a loud curse.

A mischievous smirk rose to her lips, but it was stifled before anyone could know it was there.

Just as planned, the asset could tell when the plane began its descent, giving her the cue to alert the men of the end to her "nap."

" _Fuckin_ ' hell, that was a good nap," she gasped, stretching her arms up and pretending to act like one would if they'd actually been asleep.

Though she couldn't see their reactions, she knew that the men in the helicopter had been beyond startled, no doubt grabbing the holsters that their firearms were held in. This time, she let the smirk grow on her face. "You people fall for that every time," she spoke with a deathly smooth tone, her words dripping off her tongue like wine.

A hand grasped her bicep, pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the open door of the chopper. They'd made it back to headquarters.

"You're a piece of work, 53," the one holding her muttered. "An absolute piece of work." Now that she was quiet, he'd gained his confidence back.

"More like a piece of shit," another chimed in, his hatred for her oozing out of his words. She'd only seen these men once when she first got on the chopper and assumed this one was the heavier one, tall and bulky, seeming like he didn't belong on a flying machine.

The asset smirked, flashing her teeth. " _Et toi, tu as une petite bite._ "  _And you, you have a tiny dick._  The French rolled off her tongue, easier than breathing.

It had always been that way. The asset was versed in at least thirty different languages, but French was always on her mind; she was always processing and thinking in French syllables. It was like—

"Ah, I see you made it back in one piece, gentlemen?" A woman's condescending voice broke through her thoughts, interrupting the chain of ideas. "And you were worried she would  _bite you_."

The man holding her arm squeezed it tightly before abruptly letting her go and tearing off the blindfold. "With all due respect, Madam, she's done it before to her other guards. They say that's why there's a shift system for this one."

Asset 53 blinked, her smirk ever present on her face. "That's just an old wives' tale, boys. But I do admit," she glanced around at the five men glaring at her, "I've been starting to wonder what you'd taste like." She mimed a sharp biting motion and reveled in the flinches she received as a reaction.

The woman standing in front of her clucked her tongue. "That is quite enough, Asset 53," she chastised, "I think these men deserve a rest." Dismissing them with a wave of her hand, she ushers the asset forward, turning to walk down the hall of the concrete structure they were standing in.

"Madam, are you sure that's the best idea? She's been out of cryo for a while now, she might be..." She didn't have to guess what he was going to say next.  _She might be healing._

Because Hydra was known for breaking people. It was their trademark. But this asset happened to like being broken. It meant that killing made her feel complete. Frankly, it was the only thing that made her feel complete.

Again, the woman waved her hand. "I'm just fine, gentlemen," she spoke with an air of carelessness as if she was indifferent to the idea that she might get murdered by the assassin standing next to her. "Asset 53 and I, we go... _way back_." She winked at them before clicking her black heels on the concrete floor and parading off down the corridor, Asset 53 following behind.

"New orders have come in, 53," she said, keeping her eyes focused on what was ahead of her, never speaking directly to the asset. "This are unusual circumstances, so I suggest you get as much sleep as you can. This assignment has some...extended boundaries."

The asset smiled. "Intriguing." Shuffling along, she lifted the side of her skirt and trailed a fingernail along the line of blood that had dried and crusted over on her thigh. Picking it off, she watched the flakes flutter to the ground like dried leaves in the fall. "When do I get my debriefing?" She was nearly certain that asking this question was unnecessary; they never answered her when she did.

But her companion surprised her as she stopped in front of the door to the asset's chamber, pulling her lips together in a thin line. "Your orders will be given in three hours. Whatever you do with your time until then must be done within these walls. I suggest you spend it in your cryochamber."

The ghostly sensation of the cold crept up on her arms. She used to be terrified of the cell. Now, she welcomed it like one would welcome a hot shower after standing in the cold rain. "Of course,  _Madame_." Then again with the French slip-ups.

She swiped her identification card against the panel beside the door, which popped open in response. "I'll see you in three hours, Asset 53," she said. "You leave tonight."


	3. Hopeless and Alone

_[august 1572]_

She was nearlyasleep when they stopped moving. Her shock had worn off, leaving the unmistakable sensation—or lack thereof—of numbness that wrapped its way around her body, squeezing the fight out of her, incapacitating her. She'd tried to fight the sleep that was dragging her eyelids closed, trying to remind her brain and body that she had no right to fall asleep while she was, in fact, being abducted by men that she didn't know. But alas, her twelve-year-old brain refused to stay awake.

When the horse stopped moving, she was jolted to an upright sitting position compared to her moderately more comfortable position leaning forward on the horse's neck and wrapping her arms around him so as to stay atop him. The horserider behind her slid down to the ground and pulled off his mask that had previously kept his face in obscurity. Jacqueline peered through the darkness and tried to decipher his features in the moonlight, but she was unsuccessful.

" _Qui_   _êtes-vous_?"  _Who are you?_ She asked timidly, though she knew it was hopeless to think she might get an answer. He and his...friends looked like they would rather do anything than sit and chat with a group of young boys and girls like herself.

But he surprised her as he led his horse to a nearby tree and secured his reins around the trunk. "Jacques Dubois," he spoke roughly, his voice crackling through the smooth silence that surrounded the small group of abductors and the abducted.

One of the others let out a gasp and hissed, " _Qu'est-_ ce _que tu fais_?"

 _Yes, I would like to know what he's doing, too_ , Jacqueline mused inwardly. Her abductor merely shrugged. "It's not like she'll remember this by the time the sun rises, anyway," he reasoned, letting maniacal laughter take over his body.

The twelve-year-old girl sitting on the horse felt the urge to rip the reins from their place on the tree and get the  _merde_  out of there, but she could hear her father's voice in her head, telling her to pick her fights. She knew she wouldn't get far from here, and even if she managed to be fast enough, she was completely lost. She had no idea where she was.

For now, it was safest to comply with the abductor's requests.

But it  _did_ make her pause when he mentioned not remembering things. Just what the devil had she been dragged into?

She felt a hand on her wrist, yanking her down and off the horse. She let out a small sound of protest, suddenly feeling like it was all real. Without the strong horse beneath her, she had no means of escape. Looking around, Jacqueline could see that her feeling of panic was shared among the other six kids that were taken with her. The uncertainty of what was bound to happen to them was utterly maddening as they were led into the darkness, away from the horses and further into the woods.

" _Où allons-nous_?"  _Where are we going?_  She asked quietly, knowing that if she didn't stop asking questions, if she didn't stop letting words fall from her lips, she wasn't sure if she would ever open her mouth again.

Her kidnapper— _Monsieur Dubois_ —just squeezed her wrist tighter and yanked her along faster. "No questions," he said gruffly, dragging her hard enough to make her trip over her own feet and fall to the ground. Refusing to help her up, he waited as she scrambled to her stand and kept along at a rapid pace.

Jacqueline saw her mother's face flash in her mind, a strong pang of guilt and shame gutting her.  _Je regrette, Maman,_ she spoke inwardly to the memory of her mother.  _I'm so sorry. I should have fought harder, and now I'm being abducted by strangers who praise a German name._

* * *

 

She was tired. It was obvious now, the way she dragged her feet as they kept walking through the woods, up and around roots that stuck out of the ground like undead ghosts grabbing at their feet. She knew not to ask for a break, but they had been walking for hours now. She could tell; the sun had risen and its rays were just beginning to peek through the thick canopy of trees above them.

Longing for a ray of sunshine to fall upon her kidnapper's face so she could catch a glimpse of what kind of evil rested in the man beside her, Jacqueline stretched her neck upward, blinking. Before she could raise her eyes above his waist, however, the twelve-year-old's vision was cut off as an itchy cloth—probably wool—was dragged over her eyes and tied tightly at the back of her head. A few strands of hair were caught in the knots and tugged painfully from her scalp. Wincing, Jacqueline felt a tear fall from her eyes and absorb into the woolen blindfold.  _Oh, mon Dieu, aidez moi!_  She prayed for help from her God.

Considering she was still in the grasp of these strange men and the minimal hope she had left was dwindling, Jacqueline began to feel the odd sense of betrayal by her savior in Heaven.  _No one is coming for me,_ she realized with a sharp twist of her gut.  _I am alone, even with these people around me. I am alone._

Her captors led her and the others forward, turning and twisting through the forest once more until they stopped in front of something that cast a shadow over her, the warmth of the sun absent from this recess in the wood. One of the kids let out a whine, starting to cry. "Take me home," the young boy wailed and received a slap in return. His words cut short, but he whimpered some more, fear taking over his body.

Jacqueline heard the sounds of a struggle between the boy and his holder, a scream rising from his lungs, just about to reach its apex when his kidnapper cursed and then—the scream was interrupted with deadly silence.

She felt her knees give out as she realized what she'd just witnessed. A rumbling in her gut prepared her to keel over and empty her stomach, but she wasn't even allowed the pleasure of falling to the ground; she was picked up like a feather and tossed over Dubois's shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to clear her mind. She didn't have to see the murder for her mind to imagine it. It was all she could see as someone grunted, "What a shame. I thought the boss would like him."

Someone knocked on the barrier in front of them, a metal  _clang_ sounding in the otherwise silent forest. They waited for a few seconds, nothing happening besides the shifting of gears as an unknown person on the inside unlocked what was no doubt a hidden door in the forest.

"Ah,  _bonjour_ ,  _Madame_ ," Dubois spoke, his words rumbling through Jacqueline's body as she was brought forward into a dark cavern behind the door. Despite the blindfold over her eyes, the threads were woven loosely so as to reveal what kind of light she was surrounded by. A bobbing orange haze ahead of her looked like a torch, probably carried by the woman who'd let them in.

Jacqueline stayed silent as they traipsed through the dark corridors, the metal door banging shut behind them and enveloping them in darkness save for the lone torch that seemed to float around them. She hung there over his shoulder, unsure if she would ever speak again, after what she'd just bore witness to. The poor boy had said less than she had, and look what he got in return. She had no idea what was happening to her, or what was in her future. Right now, the only thing she knew was that she could not end up like that boy.

She would survive, no matter what horrors she had to see. She would live long enough to escape from this place, wherever she was. Jacqueline Kingston would not say hopeless and alone forever.


	4. The Orders

_[june 2016]_

The asset smirkedas the heavy door swung shut, engulfing her in silence. She had three hours to get her mind back together, to get herself ready for another mission, and then she would be out of here again. She sighed, almost in yearning.

It was almost like she could do whatever she wanted.

But alas, they were always watching. In fact, those sorry excuses for guards had probably rotated and were now spying on her right now, crowded around a set of several computer screens and peering in on her. It should have been unnerving. But she just twisted her head to stare at an upside-down dome on the ceiling that stared right back at her from the corner, its red light flashing every hour of the day.

It was rather large if she considered the idea of hidden surveillance cameras. It was an obvious show of power on Hydra's part. Of course, that was all they were known for. Their unnecessary displays of rule over incapacitated people. They were always watching, and they wanted everyone to know it.

Asset 53 flashed her teeth at the bastards that were no doubt watching her, simultaneously raising her middle finger and snarling, " _Je te déteste putain._ "  _I fucking hate you._

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a small stack of four books on a metal table that looked suspiciously like a surgeon's tool table but was used as her own bedside table. All four of the books were black, painted that way so as to keep her surroundings as bleak as possible. One day, long before, they had been vibrant shades of red and blue and green, she was sure. But she was not allowed to have anything colorful in her room. Hydra had made it strictly forbidden.

She may have been their most trusted asset, but even she had to be kept in darkness. Too many things were on the line if she defected.

Not that she would, though. There were too many benefits to this...job. She was still living, and the kill...it was  _exhilarating._

The asset picked up the first book on the top of the pile and flipped open the cover, reading the German words on the dictionary's pages. Another smirk rose to her lips as she thumbed through the pages, found the words she was looking for, and recited them to the silent camera in the corner: " _Saugen Sie meinen Schwanz, Sie Bastarde_ ," she snarled.  _Suck my cock, you bastards._

She searched around the next book for a similar phrase, this time the words in Korean. "Neo seuseulo jagilhaela!"  _Go fuck yourself!_

There was a certain thrill that she savored when she cursed people out in different languages. Something in the way that they had no clue what she was saying made her smile wider and her amusement greatly increase. Of course, half of the fun came from hearing their mumbled reactions, trying to figure out just  _how_ it was possible for her to switch languages so quickly without missing a beat.

That was a part of her that would always stay with her, she suspected. She didn't know how, but she'd become fluent in about thirty different languages over the years. It was something that, she figured, made her one of the most valuable assets in Hydra's history.

A whimper stirred her from her thoughts, tearing her gaze from the security camera. Seeing the source of the noise, Asset 53 tossed the books on her thin cot, stalking over to the opposite side of her room where a two-way mirror had been set into the wall. It had always been there, and after many months, the asset was allowed to... _use_  the room it peered into.

Inside the room, tied with his hands behind his back and slumped in a metal chair that scraped against the floor, sat a man that didn't have a name. At least, not one that he knew of.

When he was first given to her, they told her that he was supposed to be an addition to the program but that he "hadn't cooperated," which resulted in becoming a gift to the deadliest member of the program. Questions were never asked, and now no one seemed to remember that he'd ever been here in the first place.

She cocked an eyebrow as she stared at him through the transparent side of the mirror. He was a strange looking man, but she supposed it was probably because the entire right side of his face was lazy and unresponsive. His eye drooped and his mouth was perpetually etched in a half frown.

He hadn't responded nicely to the electric shocks she'd administered.

 _What a shame,_ the asset thought to herself, rolling up her sleeves and waltzing to the door that would lead her to him. When she entered, the man let out a sharp yelp, blubbering sounds of pain and misery filling her ears. "Please, I beg you,  _please don't_ —"

The asset tutted, raising a finger to her lips. "Hush, Mr. Smith," she said, faking endearment to the man whose name she'd made up many weeks ago. "You'd better stay quiet, or they'll take you away from me." She stood in front of him, her hand just grazing the injured side of his face.

Her prisoner jerked away, muffling a groan of pain as it blossomed from the movement. Spitting at her, he let out a snarl. "Anywhere would be better than this. Hell itself would be bliss compared to  _you_ ," he rasped.

She merely sighed, pouting. "That's not very nice of you to say, Mr. Smith," she said. Leaning down to collect the knife that had  _conveniently_ not been removed from her person, the asset stood up. "For that comment, you've got to deal with the consequences."

His eyes widened, strings of apologies pouring out of his mouth like prayers. He jerked himself backward in an attempt to move his chair away from her, but try as he might, he was not successful. He had to sit and await the pain was sure to come soon.

"Let me tell you a story, Mr. Smith," the asset smiled, gazing adoringly at the knife held in her hand. "If you don't make a sound, maybe I'll let you rest." She raised an eyebrow. "I'm leaving tonight, you know."

The man let out a shaky breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

She flipped the knife in her grip and shoved it under his chin, pressing threateningly against his throat. " _What_ did you say?" She growled.

He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against the weapon. "N-nothing," he stammered. He held his breath until she pulled away a few moments later, letting out a relieved sigh.

"Mr. Smith, if you weren't under my care," she pondered aloud, "where do you think you'd be?"

This time, he didn't reply.  _Smart._

The asset smirked. "Why, you'd be dead." Leaning closer to him, she stuffed her knife back into its sheath. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, dear friend. I can get rid of you just as quickly as they can." Satisfied with the fearful expression on his face, she sauntered out of his room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

 

It wasn't every day that Asset 53 was merciful. Usually, she would have relished in the pain on Mr. Smith's face, she would have loved to see streams of blood pouring out of wounds that she inflicted. But today, something was different. Killing Dr. Selvig had apparently been enough for the day, especially knowing that she would be spilling blood sometime soon.

She rubbed her eyes, imagining a weary expression on her face. She was losing it, her hold on sanity. She suddenly felt sick, disgusted with herself. She wanted to curl in on herself and rip herself apart, separating the murdering bits and the bits that were...

_What else was there besides the murderer?_

She shook her head violently and began shedding her clothes, unable to allow herself another thought like the one before. She knew what she needed. She needed a clean slate. Everything was better with a fresh mind, rid of all those conflicting thoughts.  _A few hours in the ice should do it,_ she told herself, stripping down to her underthings and eyeing up the cryochamber that had been installed in her own room.

They'd called it a sign of trust. They trusted her to use it when she needed it, like one would take a few pills to make their headache go away.

The chamber was always ready for her, always up and running, its temperature shockingly cold. The first times she'd used it, the icy sensation had made her panic, causing her to bang on the glass door, shouting for help, for  _anyone_ to let her out—

She didn't think about that day anymore. The fact that she was right now...well, that was just a sign that she'd been out of cryo for far too long.

Closing the door, the asset closed her eyes and let the waves of cold seep into her bones, longing for the moment she would wake up with a clear mind.

* * *

 

It felt like only minutes later(but it had to have been hours) when she walked down the corridor, escorted by the same woman who'd led her back to her room after returning to the Hydra compound after her previous mission.

"I assume cryo treated you well?" She spoke into the silence, a ghost of an amused grin lining her lips.

The asset, empty-minded, nodded. " _Oui, Madame_."

"Good. We need you fresh for this mission, 53." The woman crossed her arms as she paused in front of a door that would open up to reveal an elevator. The asset had seen it many times before. "This mission is unlike anything you've ever done before."

Asset 53 stood stiffly, hands clasped behind her back. "I will fulfill my orders, ma'am. I will not disappoint my superiors."

Her companion didn't say anything for a beat; she just stared at her. Something flickered in her eyes before she quickly blinked it away, swiping her identification card and allowing the elevator doors to slide open. "In," she said.

The asset followed orders, robotically entering the elevator and turning around to face the woman who did not join her.

"This is as far as I will go today," she said softly, her voice wavering over the words. "See you on the other side, 53."

The asset dipped her head in acknowledgment. " _Heil Hydra._ "

She expected to hear the mantra in response, but the elevator doors slid shut before she could hear anything.

When the doors opened, her eyes landed on a spindly man whose clothes were too big for his size. His floppy brown curls were thinning, but by the way they were falling all over the place, he either didn't notice or didn't care. For Dean Thompson, the leader of a Nazi scientific branch, he didn't care much about his appearance.

He inclined his head. "Good morning, Soldier," he greeted her.

The asset didn't have to say anything; Thompson turned on his heel and led her to yet another room in the compound, closing the door swiftly once they were both inside. This was her briefing for the next mission. Her hands itched to hold her knife again.

As Thompson gave her new orders, the words rang in her head, echoing through her brain. It was a task that, executed properly, would change the course of history. She had to blink, the shock wearing off as he repeated the orders again.

"In a matter of two months, you must become as close to Tony Stark as he is to those foul humans he calls his friends. You must be his go-to, his most trusted ally, worthy of all his secrets." Thompson cleared his throat, clasping his hands together and holding her gaze. His eyes, once green, were fading into black as he continued. "And when you have captured him, when you look into his eyes and see nothing but trust,  _that_ is when you must do it." He swallowed roughly, but the next sentence rolled off his tongue with ease.

"You must kill Tony Stark, and begin the world's purification of the Avengers."

No one had ever been given such a specific set of orders, much less a  _timeline._  It was unheard of, for fear of assets waking up from their heavenly, clear-minded state and turning against their creators.

It happened once. They weren't going to let it happen again.

But there was something different about her, about Asset 53. Shed of her name and all personal identity, all of the things that made her physically unique, were gone. Of course, that couldn't even begin to touch how much her mind had changed, what they'd done to it.

They'd dug their claws in deep, latching onto her innermost self and snatching her out, leaving a shell of a human behind, open to following orders given to her. But instead of molding her into a killer by only using cryo and their silly trigger words, they built her from the ground up. Went to any measure to create her, to make her the best, most merciless assassin they could ever ask for. They burned her to the ground, and from the ashes, Asset 53 was born.

She could talk freely, control her actions—for the most part. Everything she did was for the good of Hydra.  _Especially this,_  she thought to herself as she climbed into the plane that would take her to New York City. A faraway place on another continent. She had to live there for two months.

 _Just get the job done_ , she told herself,  _then you can go back_.

The plane was hot and stuffy, restricting her ability to breathe comfortably. It was probably on purpose, to keep her from full strength while she was transported across the globe in the company of at least ten other Hydra agents. This was unlike anything she'd ever done before, that was for sure.

But from the red faces and short breaths of the pilot and her surrounding "bodyguards," it was definitely  _not_  their idea to cut the airflow of the flying tin can.

"So I guess it'd be pointless to ask you to open a window?" She sneered, locking eyes with the burly man to her right. He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice, tightening his grip on his firearm in his coat pocket. Even with their rotations, they routinely forgot about her ability to talk, the polar opposite of the other assassins Hydra rounded up over the years. They were always shocked by the fact that while she was able to take orders, she was no stranger to giving them, as long as they were for the good of Hydra.

_Always for the good of Hydra, always building their fortress up, so they can find more like me, enough to build an army._

With a loud whine of power, the airplane began to roll forward, and she fastened her seatbelt, although it didn't really matter whether she did or not. The serum she was created with would prevent any fatal injuries.

Asset 53 sat back and closed her eyes, calming her nerves and holding on to the emptiness in her mind. _Time to kill an Avenger_ , she thought with a satisfied, malicious grin.

_Oh, happy day._


	5. Elixir of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't forget to check out my wattpad, @mxrvelous-, and my tumblr, @marvel-ous-fics!

_[august 1572]_

Her feet hitthe ground with a thud as Monsieur Dubois practically dumped her off of his shoulder like a bale of hay. The impact sent a shock up through her ankles, fizzling out before it reached her hips. She whirled her head up, daring to stare right into the stranger's eyes and shoot him a deadly glare.

" _Ah, je regrette,_ " he sneered, malice rolling off the words like a sleigh down a snowy hill. The twelve-year-old huffed.  _He does not seem sorry at_ all, she growled inwardly.  _How rude._

The kidnapped kids were shoved towards a door and the woman who had escorted them flashed her teeth in the firelight. " _Bonne chance_ ," she wished them luck. The torch she held cast unsettling shadows across her wrinkled face, making her eyes look darker, her features sharper, her teeth longer—

But then the door swung open and the kids were corraled into the next room that was littered with torches leaning against the walls, looking as if they were floating. It was a much larger space than they'd previously been in, and Jacqueline wondered how it was possible for such a large place to exist underground without caving in. She tore her eyes away from the light to investigate the ceiling, trying to see if she could figure out just  _how_ they managed to excavate this much airspace.

The young girl, leading the pack of scared and sleep-deprived Protestant children, took a step forward in wonder as if to get a better view of this incredible anomaly when she bumped into something that let out a small yelp of protest.

No, not a  _thing,_ it was some _one._

The person she bumped into turned around, revealing a haggard-looking boy whose cheeks were gaunt and eyes tired. "They're going to kill us," he spoke in accented English.

She didn't understand the strange syllables. " _Comment?_ " She asked in her native language.

But he refused to say it again, his eyes widening when he looked past her shoulder at the number of guards surrounding the group. Without another word, he ducked his head and turned around. Even when she tapped him on the shoulder, it was like he didn't feel it.

"Fall into line," the woman barked, her voice surprisingly threatening at such an old age. "Everyone,  _now_."

Jacqueline remained behind the boy, realizing he was at the end of a line that, when she peered around him, extended the length of the room, leading up to a desk with a man who asked to see the wrists of each child. She swung her gaze from side to side, seeing about ten more lines identical to hers, just as long, if not longer...

 _Oh, mon Dieu,_ she gasped inwardly,  _there are hundreds of them._

She'd never seen this many kids in one place, never in her whole life. Living in the rural villages of France meant that she wasn't accustomed to seeing people her own age. It was almost like she didn't know what to say to them.

Turning around to ask a question, she stopped as soon as she heard Dubois say something in a hushed tone, just loud enough for her to catch it.

"The boss told us about the Catholics' plans for tonight, he said it would be like a gold mine with all these kids," Dubois muttered to the woman who was nodding, a sickly satisfied smile curling her lips in a venomous expression.

Another guard huffed and crossed his arms. "You sound like you're surprised, Jacques," he grunted. "The boss is always right."

Jacqueline's mind was swimming with those words as she slowly turned around, trying to draw attention to herself. She shivered despite the heat coming from the torches along the walls. This was more than a mere abduction, more than just a stray case of a few kids being taken from their homes.

This was murder. Her parents were dead.

 _My parents are dead. I have no one_ , she thought, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks, forcing her to take a step back. Holding a hand to her stomach, she waited for her knees to give out and her gag reflex to kick in, emptying her stomach on the floor, but it never came. She was forced to inch forward in the line, stepping closer and closer to her fate, whatever it would reveal itself to be.

Time passed slower than it ever had before during that time. Hundreds of kids shuffled forward, their eyes dark and their heads hanging low. Sometimes, one or two of them would try to make a run for the doors, but they were always met with a harsh club to the face, rendering them unconscious, or  _dead_ , but no one could tell. They were...disposed of, either way, carried out of the room.

Her mouth was dry, her thirst nearly making her want to scream with frustration. But she knew what would happen if she spoke up. She had an inkling that she'd gotten away with more than enough already. There was no use in testing the waters. So she kept her mouth shut, unsure of when she would use her voice again. She supposed it didn't matter now, though. She would do what she had to in order to survive.

The boy in front of her whimpered as the distance between him and the table at the front of the line decreased. She thought she heard sniffling, but it could have been anyone. Jacqueline, taught to be kind and nurturing to all people, almost reached out to comfort the boy, but when she caught Dubois staring at her with a hard glare, she retracted her hand.

Before long, there was no one standing between Jacqueline and the man at the table. "Hold out your wrist," he ordered, voice hard as nails. When she stood there and didn't move, staring at the sharp tools on the space in front of her, she felt her arm being forced forward, clasped tightly in the man's grip. She gasped as he dragged her forward, reaching down to grab a tool that looked like...a mix between a pen and a scalpel.

She closed her eyes as soon as she saw him begin to move it closer and closer to her forearm. It was only a matter of seconds before she would feel the tool cutting into her skin and drawing blood.

When it came, the pain was searing, cutting deep into her forearm, carving out symbols. She didn't want to look at it; didn't want to accept the fact that this man, this doctor or whatever he wanted to call himself, had mutilated her forever.

She was escorted from the room into another corridor that was lined with dirt and looked as though it would collapse with any minor movements of the earth above. This time, a woman was beside her. Younger than the scary-looking one from before, and with kinder eyes. Jacqueline felt her hope flicker back to life, but she kept it from growing too large. She couldn't afford to be disappointed again.

"Fifty-three," she spoke, "your first lessons will be in language. You will spend three hours every day studying the languages that your superiors deem necessary, and then you will take your dose of the elixir and—"

" _Comment?_ " Jacqueline interrupted, trailing behind her slightly. "My name is—"

The woman looked sharply down at her and shook her head. "Fifty-three," she said again, pointing in the direction of her forearm. "You have no name here. It only complicates things. You will be addressed by your identification number."

 _Identification number?_ She looked down at her arm and her heart dropped into her stomach as she read the horrific artwork the man had carved into her arm.  _53_ was shown in bloody numbers on her skin, disrupting the clean, pale color that had previously been there. She shuddered, counting the pulses that pounded through her arm as if it had its own heartbeat.

Her companion nodded. "See?" She said. "You are fifty-three, and the ones after you are fifty-four, fifty-five, all the way up until we run out of arms to tattoo."

Jacqueline ducked her head, shuffling to wherever the woman would lead her. "Why is this happening to me?" She dared to ask. "And who are you?"

The woman stopped in the middle of the hallway and rested her hands on Jacqueline's shoulders. "My name is Cécile Boucher. I am your...supervisor. Do not stray from your orders and you will survive here. Do you understand?"

She paused for a moment before finally nodding. "Why..."

But Cécile shook her head again. "I don't have the authority to disclose that information, 53. Follow me to your chambers, and you will receive your first dose of the elixir." She turned on her heel and began walking away into the darkness, leaving the twelve-year-old no choice but to follow.

The room she came to was small and dank, dark except for a small oil lamp that burned quietly in the corner. There was a small pile of threadbare blankets on the dirt floor that she assumed was supposed to be her bed. She turned around and saw Cécile reach into her pocket, taking out a small vial of colorless liquid.

She pointed. "That's the...elixir?" Her words were shaky. She'd heard the word before, but only in fairy tales that her mother would tell her before bed.

Cécile nodded. "From Catherine de Medici's chambers herself. Drink all of it," she instructed, holding out the vial for her to take. "Then...I would suggest laying down right after. The effects can be quite...drastic." She tugged her lips up in a seemingly kind smile, and held it there until Jacqueline took the vial from her hands, popping the cork off the top. 

The girl took a deep breath and tipped the vial into her mouth, an unbelievably bitter liquid hitting her senses and making her gag. She could hardly cough it down. She frowned and choked out, "It doesn't taste good, it's... _revoltant._ "

Her strange new acquaintance shrugged. "Well, that's to be expected. Immortality isn't supposed to be  _delicieux,_  otherwise everyone would be doing it." She took the empty vial back from her and ushered her towards the meager pile of blankets on the floor. "The elixir of life is only meant for the strongest of us. You may be one of them."

"Immortality?" Jacqueline asked, but her mouth could form the word correctly. It sounded like slurred, meaningless syllables when she heard it.

Cécile flashed another kind smile. "You'd better lay down, now. Someone will be here when you wake up."

The dirt dug into her back as her eyelids blinked shut and the world disappeared from view.


	6. Seduction

_[june 2016]_

"Thank you, gentlemen,"the asset smiled as the plane touched down and its engine died. "I rather enjoy our time together, don't you?" Standing up, she stepped out onto solid ground, taking a deep breath of fresh air. It was heavenly compared to the stuffiness in the plane that had kept her gasping for breath for several hours, making her wary of falling asleep. She'd tried to hide her discomfort from the guards; she was supposed to be invincible. But of course, even immortality had its setbacks.

As she looked around her, she took in her surroundings and surveyed the area. They'd landed on the top of a building, using the landing pad. She wasn't certain if it was another Hydra base in the United States, but either way, the pilot was currently talking to the security of the building, keeping the attention off of her.

One of the guards, a skinny one with a nearly bald head, followed behind her and held out a silver case. His arms were so thin, she was surprised he hadn't dropped it already.

She cocked an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"All of the supplies you'll be needing for the next two months," the man spoke, his voice strong and dull. "Including the appropriate attire for a bar. This is where you'll be meeting the target tonight." He inclined his head, wordlessly pointing at her clothes and disapproving of them all in the same movement.

The asset scoffed. "Fine, what'd you pick out for me?" Reaching for the case, she noted the speed with which the skinny guard removed his hand from it, wiping his hand on his pants as if he was contaminated. Upon opening the case, she was immediately greeted with a white cloth that looked too smooth to be anything but a cocktail dress.

She frowned, scowling. "A  _white_ dress? Boys," she chuckled cruelly, "I've mastered the art of seduction, but this is  _not_ how you gain the attention of a billionaire." She looked from the case to the men staring at her, hands gripping their loaded firearms. "I'm offended." Shrugging, she closed it and let it hang by her side. "Oh well, I'll find something else that'll do the job."

"No, you have been given  _direct orders_ —"

"Stand down, gentlemen," someone interrupted, stepping forward from the crowd. "As our strongest asset, I think 53 has allowed herself certain... _leniencies_."

She recognized the man who made himself known. It was one of the men who oversaw Hydra's cryofreeze research branch, working closely with Dean Thompson. He was donning a rather mismatched ensemble, navy blue pants with brown dress shoes, a black belt visible beneath the beige dress jacket he wore. It was the typical attire for a scientist. While his name was unbeknownst to the asset, she didn't need to know anything about him to feel the familiar surge of loyalty. Nodding in acknowledgment, she waited for him to continue.

The other guards, some of them obviously reluctant, stepped back and put their guns in their sheaths. When he was satisfied that no one would shoot anything, Hydra's most trusted scientist crossed his arms and turned to face the asset. "You may find clothing that is more suitable for your needs," he granted her permission. "Before you go, let me remind you of what is resting on your shoulders." He took a deep breath. "The extermination of Tony Stark is not just the beginning of the end for Earth's precious Avengers. It is the end of a mission that the Winter Soldier was unable to complete. You are finishing his business and carrying on with your own mission. Do you understand?"

" _Oui, Monsieur._ "

He flinched upon hearing the French syllables but continued. "Your name is Jacqueline. If he asks what your last name is, tell him you grew up on the streets and didn't give yourself one. You will make Tony Stark rely on you so heavily that he trusts you with every secret. You will get so close to him that killing him will hurt more than anything he has ever felt."

" _Natürlich, der Herr_ ," the asset agreed in German.  _Of course, sir._

The scientist paused for a moment, then nodded. "Your implant has been removed and must be replaced." He spoke the words with such dryness in his voice that it seemed as though he was talking about something much simpler, like the results of his countless experiments on the human body. Ushering with his hand, he motioned for the same skinny guard to bring forth a needle in the form of a less-threatening handgun. He curled his hand around the handle and held it up.

She knew what to do; this was nothing new. Turning her back to him, she brushed her hair away from the back of her neck, leaving the skin exposed for him to press the needle into her skin, pulling the trigger. The new implants, which would transmit her location and vitals at all times, squeezed through the needle and pushed painfully into the sore skin. There was no doubt that this patch of skin was angry and red from being used so often.

"Everything's working, sir," a guard updated them, holding a tablet in front of him that was clearly connected to the piece of technology that was now in her neck.

With her new implants up and running, and everything she needed in her hands, the asset smiled. "I'll see you on the other side, sir."

He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. "We await your success, Asset 53." He swallowed, clearing his throat. " _Heil Hydra_ ," he spoke in his native tongue.

" _Heil Hydra!_ " The guards around her responded with a resounding force that would make any normal civilian crumble to their knees.

The plane was loaded, and in just a few minutes, the flying tin can was a dot in the sky, leaving the asset standing on a foreign roof, only one thing on her mind:

_I'd better find one hell of a dress._

* * *

 

The asset tried to stifle a satisfied smirk as she held up her forged invite to the bouncer outside of the club. The small piece of paper had been hidden in the folds of that horrid white cocktail dress; luckily she'd found it when she was rummaging through the things that the program had chosen to loan to her over these two months.

Inside the case, besides the two items she'd already discovered, had been a gun( _too messy_ , she'd thought), a knife( _now that's more like it_ ), and an unfamiliar bottle of green pills. Curiosity taking over, she'd picked it up and inspected the label, deciphering the German words on it:

_For cryofreeze substitution only. Take one every night._

She cocked an eyebrow, still curious about this new form of cryo, but shrugged, shoving it back into the case and locking it tight.

Now, she was being ogled by every man within a fifty-foot radius. Savoring the attention, she took the invitation back from the club bouncer, letting her fingers linger on his for a moment longer than necessary.  _This is going to be fun_ , she thought to herself, holding her head high as she entered the club.

Music was pouring from the speakers like wine from the bottle, loud enough to nearly erase her thoughts from her mind.  _Nearly_. She stopped in the doorway, surveying the scene and looking for the man who would be her next victim. All the while, she felt eyes on her...or rather, her body. 

She'd found a dark blue dress in the window of a high-end clothing store and without even thinking, had nabbed it from the store, changing quickly. With a history of sticky fingers and quick feet, she was less than worried about the pathetic authorities coming after her.

The dress hugged her slim body, the deep V-neck putting an emphasis on her cleavage and holding the attention of all the men, if not all the women, in the dark space. She'd decided not to bother with jewelry, as the dress spoke for itself. Pairing it with shoes had been quite difficult, but when she saw a pair of nude strappy heels, she smirked, stealing those as well. The full ensemble was something that would make any respectable man leave his modesty behind, falling to his knees and begging to be noticed by her.

But there was only one man in the asset's mind.

Stepping further into the club, she noticed a bar towards the back of the room and decided to weave her way through the crowd and stake out Stark from there. It turned out to be much easier than expected, as they all backed away, leaving a wide enough path for her to get to the bar untouched. The asset tugged her lips apart in a seductive grin, watching as the men and women staring at her slackened their jaws.

By the time she made it to the bar, she'd been noticed by everyone in the place, or so it seemed. She still hadn't been able to spot the one man she'd come for.

A warm hand touched her bare elbow as she leaned against the bar.  _There._

"Now, why do I think that you're here to impress someone?" A low voice spoke to her, breath fanning over her face as he spoke directly into her hear so as to be heard over the loud music.

Asset 53 turned to look at Tony Stark. "I couldn't say, Mr. Stark," she hummed. "Maybe I just wanted to dress up and see who noticed."

His eyes flickered, and a mischievous smirk grew on his face. "I'd say you succeeded, Miss..."

"Jacqueline." The name felt strangely familiar on her tongue.

Tony nodded, flicking his wrist at the bartender. "Can I buy you a drink, Jacqueline?"

The assassin zeroed in on her target.  _I'm going to make you wish you were never born._

"Absolutely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> tumblr: marvel-ous-fics  
> wattpad: mxrvelous-


	7. Drunken Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have recently been writing some one-shots and posting them to my tumblr page after a long hiatus, let me know if you want me to post them on here!

_[june 2016]_

"Tell me, Jacqueline..." the billionaire hummed, downing the last gulps of his drink. "Where'd you waltz in from?" He flicked his wrist for another drink to be made.

The asset flashed a smile and brought her glass to her lips. "Wouldn't you like to know," she replied swiftly. She savored the look of surprise that struck him speechless. He was obviously not accustomed to a woman reacting this way to his charms. "Let's just say I...dropped by the neighborhood." Asset 53 put her drink down and sighed lightly. "How'd  _you_ find this place?"

"I own it." The words rolled off his tongue so naturally that she nearly missed it.

She'd already known this fact, as it was discussed during her briefing, but she played the part of a demure, mysterious woman in a bar, trying to win the attention of a rich bachelor. So she widened her eyes and pretended to choke on her drink, swallowing roughly. "Sorry, you  _own_  this place?"

"The whole thing, Miss Kingston." It was comical, the way Stark smirked and reclaimed dominance of the conversation.

_Oh, you poor thing. Thinking you're the one in charge of things here._

Asset 53 swiftly downed the rest of her drink, letting the quick warmth that rose to her cheeks pass as a blush. Within the next few seconds, the effects of the drink wore off, a blessing and a curse of the serum she was created with. Her lips curled into a smile as an idea blossomed in her mind. "Well, Mr. Stark," she stumbled over her words, feigning drunkenness, "I think you owe me a dance after all this talking."

Tony's eyes sparkled with mischief as he saw the way she struggled to stand on her own two feet. "You're sure you can handle it, Jack?"

Her senses piqued at the nickname, a sense of accomplishment entering her veins. " _Oui, je vais bien_ ," ( _yes, I'm fine_ ) she mumbled, the French syllables stumbling from her lips easier than if she had said it in English.

"Ah, you're bilingual," Stark mused, reaching out to hold her up by the forearm. She had gone from wobbling on two feet to pretending to fall over with each step toward the dance floor. " _Qu'est-_ ce _que vous faites demain_?" ( _What are you doing tomorrow_?)

The asset shrugged, clutching the man's muscular arm for false support. "I dunno, probably trying to figure out what happened tonight."

Stark cocked an eyebrow and chuckled lowly. "You can't hold your alcohol, can you, Jack?"

"I can  _too_ ," she pushed back like an insolent child. Then, smirking, she tapped her hand against his chest and whispered, "I like the nickname. It's...badass." She gripped his hand and dragged him toward the middle of the bar where there was more open space, the music pulsing from speakers on the walls.

There was hardly anyone dancing, as there was no official dance floor, but the asset pretended not to notice in her feigned drunken state. "I love this song," she hummed in Stark's ear, leaning close and giving him a clear, up-close view of the tight dress she was wearing. Without fail, as expected with every man she'd ever had to seduce, his eyes drifted from her eyes to her chest. But Tony Stark, he was different. He tried to hide it, not out of embarrassment, but out of respect for the drunk stranger sharing his breath in the close air space they were sharing.

Asset 53 tilted her head up and began to sway, letting her body bounce with the beat of the sultry song that blared into her ears. Her eyelids closed and she felt herself sink into the familiar feeling that accompanied her during missions: she was deliciously manipulative, dragging this man down into the devil's arms. This was only the first night, and by the last day, the day she would watch his blood pool into her hands, Tony Stark would be so in love with a ghost that he would welcome his death.

She would make sure of it.

The asset smirked with satisfaction at the thought, watching as the billionaire in front of her just stood, gazing at her like a fine piece of art. Stark lifted an eyebrow and looked somewhere past her shoulder, not really  _seeing_ , just...blankly staring into empty space. "Huh. You...you remind me of someone I know."

"Yeah?" She met his eyes slowly, stepping closer so their chests were touching. "Tell me about her." Dragging her fingers down his arms and placing them on her waist, she held back a chuckle as he stumbled to reply, taken aback by her advances.

 _You'd think Iron Man would have better composure_ , she thought lowly, but then a sense of accomplishment washed over her.  _But I'm stronger,_  she told herself, enjoying the way he gripped her waist tightly, hugging her closer and swaying with her.

They stayed like that for the rest of the song and into the next, dancing and swaying. She was still close enough to hear his breath hitch as she slid her hands up his back, clutching his suit jacket in her fists and tugging him closer than what seemed possible.

Her eyes purposely flitted down to his lips, picking up the fact that he did the same, his tongue darting out to moisten them.  _You wish_ , she hummed inwardly. She hovered there for a few seconds, letting his desire for her to kiss him torture him. Then, letting her eyelids droop, she leaned to the side and rested her cheek on his shoulder and felt her legs give out. She had successfully fainted.

"Oh, shit," she heard Stark mutter, catching her and keeping her from falling to the ground. "I was right, Jack," he continued as he picked her up and carried her bridal style to the door, she presumed, as the breeze of the late night swooshed against her bare legs. "You really  _can't_ hold your alcohol."

As he kept walking, the asset opened her eyes into slits to scout out where they were headed as best she could. Sure enough, there was a sleek black car waiting for them, a man sitting in the driver's seat and eating what looked to be a sandwich. Upon the arrival of the unlikely pair, the driver jumped, mumbling a curse as he rolled down the window. "Who's she?"

"Mr. Hogan, I would like you to meet Miss Jacqueline Kingston," Stark replied swiftly, deftly opening the backseat door. Carefully bending down and placing her in the vehicle, he stood up. "Please take her back to my place."

The asset's eyes were now closed as she kept up the drunken facade, but she could only imagine the look of shock on the poor driver's face. "You're joking," Mr. Hogan replied.

"Happy, I need you to do this for me. It'll only be this one night, in the morning you can take her back to her hotel," he reasoned.

Asset 53 stifled a growing smirk.  _Only tonight, huh? We'll see about that, Mr. Stark._

"Tony," Happy Hogan argued, his voice becoming more and more panicked, "she could be a serial killer. I'm not going to—"

"Happy, just drive. Put the car in gear and drive. I'll be home in a few hours." Tony shut the car door and tried to walk away, but Happy bombarded him with arguments, insisting, "I'm not doing this, I'm not doing it, you can't make me," while Tony repeated his name, getting progressively louder each time.

"Happy!" Tony bellowed over the loud driver. "If you do this, I'll buy you every season of  _Downton Abbey_."

The car went silent. Then the car turned on and he put the car in drive. "If you joking, Tony, I swear I'll quit."

The asset could imagine the smirk that grew on the billionaire's face. "That's a good one, Hap." Patting the roof of the car, Tony's voice got quieter as he walked away from the car, calling, "See you at home," as he walked away.

And so, the not-so-drunk assassin sat in the backseat of Tony Stark's car,  _without Tony Stark_.

This mission would require more work.


	8. Gathered

_[june 2016]_

The usual dotted city lights became strings of lights that blurred together as the car rushed down the busy street, Asset 53 calmly staring out the window despite the fact that she was still pretending to be passed out drunk. She was well aware of the fact that her driver— _Happy—_ consistently peered back at her, paranoia clearly etched in his features.

It was like he thought she would bite him like an animal.

If she were truthful,  _that_ depended on the day she was having. Fortunately for the pudgy man, she had no desire to rip him to shreds with her teeth.

Her back had started to cramp in the uncomfortable position she was laying in, splayed along the back seat of the car. She'd tried to adjust herself, but every time she moved it was cause for an extra few glances in the rearview mirror, accompanied by a fresh string of curses that blew from his mouth like an exhale in the winter.

So, for the past fifteen minutes, the asset had sat in traffic and tried not to think of how much it would hurt when she eventually had to sit up.

 _Now or never,_  she told herself. Letting a slightly fatigued groan fall from her lips, reaching up to brush her hair from her face. Sitting up, she grimaced as her muscles contracted and spasmed, blood rushing to her back. "W-where am I?" She mumbled, playing the part of a hungover woman as she clutched her head and groaned again, louder this time.

Happy jerked upright in his seat, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling of the car. " _Jesus!_ " He exclaimed, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles faded into white. "You don't think you could be a little more subtle when you decided to wake up?"

The asset scoffed, running a hand through her tangled hair. "I think we have slightly different definitions of subtlety." She looked out the window as though it was the first time, and shuddered. "Who are you? How did I..." she trailed off and looked down.

"You got shit-faced," he huffed, still unsettled by her waking up. "Pardon my French. And then the boss told me to take you back to his place." He met her eyes in the rearview mirror again. "Clearly you can't hold your alcohol."

The asset rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I can  _too_!" She protested in vain, enjoying the playfulness of the whole situation. It was now a great struggle to keep a wide grin off her face.

But the driver just shook his head. "Yeah, he said you'd say that." Focusing on the road again, he added, "You mind not talking until we get there?" Without waiting for an answer, he grunted a, "Thanks," and promptly pressed a button that revealed a black screen that slid up between the front and back of the car, completely isolating the two people in it.

He hadn't told her who "he" was, or where they were going, but she suspected that it was all part of the plan. See if she wanted to get out on a random street rather than run the risk of getting slaughtered at a stranger's house. How wrong this poor man would be proven to be.

The sky was still pitch dark, the streets nearly empty except for the few cars that littered the streets and the small packs of drunk bar patrons struggling to find their way home. The asset smirked at the sight of them, amused pity swimming in her eyes. How primitive it was, the desire to be so intoxicated that it altered the mind, the body, the soul. How utterly disgusting.

It was truly miraculous, the way Hydra was able to concoct a serum that would take away all of that. The mistakes any asset made could never be blamed on the incapacity to think properly, or the inability to control one's movements. The perfection of the serum made sure that each asset was responsible for their own actions.

They drove on for around ten more minutes before finally pulling into a long driveway that led up to a garage. As the asset peered out the window, the garage was evidently attached to the famous Stark Tower. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she waited for the car to turn off and for her door to open.  _This is going to be fun_ , she hummed to herself.

Laying back on the seat again and letting the tired and drunk facade wash over her again, her act sliding back into place. "You know, you could very well be a rapist," the asset let her words slur as the door opened, revealing Happy Hogan to be a rather pudgy, albeit tall, man. The lights from the parking garage cast shadows on his face, but she could see him clearly enough to know that this man didn't like to smile much.

Something inside her clicked. If she couldn't get through to Stark, she could at least waste her days away annoying this one to the end of time.

But she knew she would get to Stark. He wasn't invincible, unlike her. With time, he would break. And when he did, she would carve her dagger into his chest, where it belonged.

Happy muttered something less-than-pleasant before reaching in the car to find her hand and pull her to her feet. "Come on, let's do this the easy way," he grunted, letting her arm rest on his shoulders and he kicked the car door shut and stumbled forward, aiming for an elevator door.

The asset kicked away from him. "I'm fine, I can walk, I'm not  _that—_ " she pretended to stumble over her feet, nearly falling over sideways before Happy caught her.

"Yeah, whatever you say, lady," he sighed exasperatedly, almost carrying her to the elevator and jabbing a button with his thumb. "I can't believe Tony's making me do this," he muttered to himself, "I deserve a raise for this."

"Who's Tony?" She squirmed in his grip, a lazy smile gracing her lips. " _Oh_ , is he the one I was dancing with?" She giggled. "Oh, he's  _handsome_ , don't you think?"

Happy grunted as the door to the elevator opened. "That's what they all say, I just think he's a dumbass."

The asset smirked but turned her head away so he wouldn't see. This was going to be even more fun than she'd imagined. "That's not very ni— _oh no_ ," she hummed as the elevator lurched upward. Holding her stomach and keeling over, the asset pretended to be sick.

"Oh, god, not in the elevator," Happy groaned, "not in the  _elevator_ , that smell's gonna last for  _months._ "

She "held it in" for the rest of the elevator ride, but as soon as the doors opened, she stumbled out into a strange hallway and glanced around in mock panic, as though searching for a bathroom.

"Down the hall on the left," Happy called as she darted off, making the sounds of a person who had little to no time before emptying the contents of their stomach.

Slamming the door closed once she reached the bathroom, Asset 53 stopped and peered in the mirror. Her dress was less rumpled than she'd thought it would be, but her hair was more knotted than she cared to admit. She stayed in the bathroom for the next ten minutes, looking around at anything and everything that might give her a key into Tony Stark's head. But it seemed that his style of decor was rather simple, with hardly any pictures of himself or his family.

Of course, this was the  _bathroom_ , and it was rather strange to be taking a shit while someone's granddad was smiling down on them.

The asset huffed and reached into the pocket of her dress, pulling out the small container that housed those green pills she'd been sent with:

_For cryofreeze substitution only. Take one every night._

Shrugging, she opened it and took one out. With Tony gone, there was no reason to stay awake. Her mission would have to resume in the morning, when he decided to return home. For now, she just had to slip into unconsciousness.

Finding her way back to where she'd last seen Happy, she laid down on a couch that was more comfortable than she'd imagined for such a simple man. Her head resting on a pillow, she slipped the green pill between her lips, scowling at the foul taste as it touched her taste buds. Swallowing it dry, she immediately felt a cold wave wash over her, dulling her senses.

For a second, the asset had the slight pang of fear that warned her about the idea that these pills could be new, never tested. But she wasn't able to complete the thought before darkness consumed her.

_Hydra wouldn't kill her, though. She was sure of it. Asset 53 was far too valuable._


	9. Wouldn't Dream Of It

_[june 2016]_

The asset woke up slowly—though she wasn't sure it could be called waking up so much as those green cryo pills wearing off. One by one, her senses became less dull, fading in like a gentle piano piece. First, it was the feel of the cushions embracing her in her lying position, and a...blanket covering her shoulders.

_That wasn't there when I laid down._

It seemed she was already charming the man of iron. Good, too; she had just under two months to complete this mission. And if she wanted to make it as satisfying as she could, if she wanted to savor the betrayal that would surely shine in those eyes...well, she had to start luring him in right from the start.

Next, she forced her eyes open, blinking a few times to rid her vision of fatigued blurriness. Staring down at the carpeted floor beneath the couch she was still laying on, she focused on a dark stain that looked as if it were from dirt or drink that had been neglected, never washed out. She thought about how something so simple, so trivial, could seep its way into the foundation, transforming it into something sinister, something beyond evil.

The asset looked up as she heard voices coming from somewhere behind her, sounding like there was a door or a wall in between them. She perked up her ears in an attempt to decipher the muffled words from two males—presumably that Happy Hogan and his boss, her next victim. For a few seconds, she couldn't hear anything but the angry intones of their voices, deep and rumbling for a moment before shifting to a higher, almost whiny pitch.

Asset 53 smirked.  _They may be men, but they'll always be boys._

"What did you expect me to do, Tony?" Stark's assistant was clearly not happy, though it sounded like this exasperation wasn't anything new for the poor man.

There was a pause. "She's not an animal, Happy, you could have at least given her one of the guest rooms! She's not just a stranger off the street!"

A disgruntled mumbling. Then, "No, that's actually  _exactly_ what she is, Tony. You met her and danced with this woman for, what? Fifteen minutes? Then she passed out and you made me drive her—"

"I didn't  _make_ you do anything!" Stark responded indignantly. The asset stood up, brushing her dress off and making sure it wasn't too wrinkled. As she padded closer to a door that no doubt blocked her view from the two men, she heard Happy's retort.

"You  _bribed_ me, Tony. That's a pretty clear definition of making someone do something."

She was able to see them now, still hanging out of sight by the doorframe that hid her mostly from view.

The billionaire shrugged, crossing his arms. "You didn't have to do it, though."

Happy scoffed. "And give up free  _Downton Abbey_? No thanks. Speaking of which," he held up a hand, "I've already put the Amazon order through, so don't worry about doing all the hard work. I should get my reward for putting up with your bullshit in five to seven business days."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "How did you—?"

"Friday knows I have good intentions," Hogan answered smugly.

 _Friday? Maybe a pet name?_ The asset wondered, her brain wired to decipher any type of code she might come across. It couldn't be a pet name. This man had too much OCD tendencies following him around for there to be a pet in this building.

Then again, there was that dark stain on the carpet.

"Hey, you're awake."

Asset 53 looked up and let a gentle smile grace her lips as she met their eyes. "Hi."

"Uh, I'm gonna go. Call if you need help with the stranger in your house." Happy spun on his heel and started to walk towards an elevator, but then stopped. "Actually, don't. I'm gonna sit this one out."

Stark waved him away and stepped closer to the asset, unknowingly stepping closer to his fate. "How'd you sleep?" He asked, but his eyes jerked away from hers as he walked to the kitchen and fumbled around with the cabinets, searching for something. He found a coffee mug in the cupboard, pulling another one from the strainer in the sink. "Do you like coffee?"

The asset smiled wider. "Do you have tea?"

She'd actually never had the bitter morning drink; she'd much preferred a scalding hot cup of tea. It was the one trait that seemed to be unique to her. According to what her superiors bothered to tell her, she was the only one who required tea throughout the days she spent at the Hydra compound. A strange habit for a trained assassin.

Once their drinks were made and the asset comfortably twirled the tea bag around in hot water as she waited for it to steep, she watched as the iron man leaned against the doorframe, sipping his cup of coffee.

He paused before opening his mouth, taking a few seconds to peer at the woman in his kitchen, still wearing the dress she'd worn the night before. "You've never been to the city, have you?" He implored.

Asset 53 ducked her head, letting an embarrassed smile curl his lips upward. "It's that obvious, huh?"

Stark, ever the gentleman, shook his head. "No, I just figured. Something about you looks like a country girl. Like you'd rather be surrounded by trees and open air than people and pollution." He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

She cocked an eyebrow. "What do you know, Tony Stark's an observant man." She hummed as she drank her tea, hurriedly thinking of a story to tell this man. "I grew up in a rural town in South Dakota. Loved it there, and I still do."

"Why'd you leave, then?" Stark inquired, his eyes burning into her.

The asset shrugged. "My parents died when I was fourteen. A drunk driver was passing through our town and hit them as they were crossing the street. It was immediate." She made sure to speak with detachment, as though the trauma brought up nothing but numbness in her, so many years later.

"Damn. Mine died in a crash too." He looked genuine as he spoke, trying to let this stranger know that he was telling the truth. "I'm sorry."

Asset 53 was quite the actress. Shrugging, she blinked and sighed. "I moved out of town when I was eighteen and could take care of myself. I just couldn't be there anymore, in such a small town where everyone knew me and knew what I'd gone through. I couldn't handle it. I just wanted to escape. So I came here." She glanced up to meet his eyes as she added, "And look who I stumbled into the arms of."

The billionaire didn't have a reaction to her words, just stared at her. She stared back, taking it everything about him. The dress shirt he was still wearing from the night before, the mismatched socks he wore on his feet, the way he leaned up against the countertop that exuded confidence. Nothing escaped her gaze.

"The way you look at me," he began, his words tapering off, "it's like you're...analyzing me."

Asset 53 shrugged again, grinning. "I'm always analyzing. It's what I do."

Tony made a noise of thinking. "Huh. You've got a scientist's mind, Jacqueline Kingston."

She cocked an eyebrow. " _Peut être_."  _Maybe._

His eyes brightened at the sound of the foreign words. " _Ah, vous parlez français aussi? Merveilleux._ "  _Ah, you speak french also? Wonderful._ "We're going to get along quite nicely,  _Mademoiselle_."

"Yeah? Who says I'm going to be here long enough for there to be any getting along?"

Tony smiled. "I'll tell you what. You can stay here until you get your own place. But just until then, Miss Kingston." With a wink, he added, "I can't have people taking advantage of my hospitality."

The assassin returned the smile. "I wouldn't dream of it, Tony."


	10. Hunting Grounds

_[june 2016]_

The asset padded down the corridor, following the sound of metal clanging on metal, the sound of Tony's sharp orders to his mechanical friends, and the occasional string of curses that fell from his lips after a failed experiment. She smirked as she silently snuck up on the billionaire. It had been a few weeks of staying here and infiltrating Iron Man's defenses, and she had yet to make her first move. She could hear a clock ticking in her head as the days went on, slowly but surely counting down to her victim's inevitable fate.

She'd spent all of the previous weeks gently playing the part of a lost woman looking for a place to call home. Just a poor, defenseless girl in a woman's body. But the strength and sheer power of will that coursed through Asset 53's veins strongly suggested otherwise.

Shaking her head, she rid her mind of the fogginess that still lingered from the cryo pills that she took every night. The small green things sure had a kick to them, letting her embrace the cool wave that washed over her every time they slid down her throat. Not as promising as the real thing, but it was enough to do the job and keep her mind fresh for the next day of her mission.

For a moment, she longed for her cryo chamber, her concrete-walled cell of a bedroom, and even Mr. Smith, the man she used to practice different torture methods on. With a twinge of sadness, she tried to usher his face to her mind, but it was nearly impossible. All she saw was a blurry face in the middle of a forest, a shadow cast over the features, keeping it hidden from view.

The sight shook up the asset, and she blinked a few times to get herself back on track. She was almost upon her target's lab, and she had to be free of all conflicting thoughts in order to execute this deed.  _Must have been a faulty pill last night_ , she brushed it off.  _Happens all the time._

As she crept to the edge of the doorway and surveyed the scene, she crossed her arms and scrutinized the area.

She was no scientist, but she suspected that even the most brilliant ones didn't have as much of a mess littering their labs as Tony Stark did. Papers fluttered from shelves when a robot—or machine, she didn't know—rolled its way past. The sheets of paper were hardly in neat piles, nor did she think that was the point. Organized chaos was  _not_ a phrase she could use in this situation. It was  _turbulent chaos._

Coffee cups had been tossed on the floor after being emptied of their contents, styrofoam takeout containers were stacked by the far-too-small garbage can, seemingly the only organization in the large room. Pieces of metal, presumably parts for a model for his suits or other weapons, were scattered on the tables, most of them laying on odd angles, unfinished. Others were standing upright, an arm here, a foot there, all built out of what looked like scrap metal, painted bright colors of shining red and shimmering gold.

The asset took note of just  _how_ many models he seemed to be making. It was like he was building an army.

And in the middle of it all stood the one and only target of the biggest mission of her life. Tony Stark.

His head was bent over the table he was working at, hovering over what looked like...well, the asset couldn't tell. It was far different than what she'd seen on the other tables. This was not made of metal, this was some kind of rubbery material. And instead of red and gold, she caught stripes of blue and black, with red pulling it all together.

She'd done the most observing she could without talking. The only way she would get more information to bring back to Hydra would be if she started playing the role she'd been instructed to. "What are you making?" She opened her mouth, letting the words float from her lips like a sweet love song.

He jumped at the sound of her voice. "Holy shit, Jack," he said, dropping the pile of rubber back on the table, letting the pliers in his hand clang on the metal surface. "You sure know how to sneak up on a man."

Asset 53 smirked at the nickname he'd been calling her consistently over the past few weeks.  _That's going to make it so much better when I dig my dagger into his gut, across his throat, gouge out his eyes_ —

 _Hold on,_ she scolded herself.  _Don't get caught up in the means just yet. Focus on your mission while he's alive._ She would have another month to decide what to do with him once she got him where she needed him. Right under her thumb, willing to do anything for her.

Shrugging, she stepped into the room and dropped her arms to her sides. "I can be quiet when I want to be, I guess." Getting a little closer, she made a point at looking at the pile of colors, realizing it formed some type of...suit? "What is that?"

Tony looked down at the suit, eyes widening as if in the realization that it was still sitting out in plain view. Hastily shoving it underneath the table onto a shelf, he stood up and wiped his hands free of it. "Just messing around with stuff, as I do," he responded quickly. "Where's Happy? I wanted to ask him about...something. Avengers stuff."

The asset's ears perked up. Now,  _that_ was interesting. "Oh,  _Avengers_?" She winked at him, her interest piqued. "Do tell, Mr. Stark."

Luckily for her, the genius in front of her was too hung up on her use of his last name to think of what she was asking. "Uh...the ship's are hitting some rocky waters, that's all. I've got a meeting with the Secretary of State later today, so I'm just burning time while I'm waiting."

Tucking away that knowledge to ponder on later, Asset 53 felt invisible hands curl their way around his arm, clawing toward his heart. "Well, that's awfully boring. Want to burn time together?" She took another step closer so she was standing on the opposite side of the table, fingers splayed out on the surface in front of her. Leaning in, she was close enough to see the dilating pupils in his eyes.  _Just like it'll be when I see the light leave those same eyes_ , she thought mercilessly.

Tony paused, studying her face. "You know, I—"

"Tony!"

Judging by Tony rolling his eyes and allowing a lopsided grin to grow on his lips, the man that interrupted their moment was none other than Happy Hogan, the man he'd been looking for.

The asset tried to keep her annoyance from showing. She was so close to something good, something worth reporting back to her superiors, but the pudgy chauffeur, or assistant, or whatever the hell he was, had to go and mess it up.

Seething, Asset 53 closed her eyes before turning around.  _You will get another chance. You will make sure of it_ , she vowed to herself.

Tony was walking over to meet Happy at the door, saying something about not wanting people to interrupt his time in the lab. "It messes up my ideas, I need to have my alone time, Happy. Solitude is healthy sometimes, Happy. What season of  _Downton Abbey_ are you on? Shouldn't you be catching up?"

Happy rolled his eyes. " _She's_ allowed to be in here." He pointed an accusing finger at the asset.

When he hesitated to respond, just staring at her with a small grin on his face, the asset knew she'd already begun to dig her claws into him. "Well, that's an extenuating circumstance. She's shockingly sneaky."

This did nothing to keep Happy's suspicions about her at bay. He narrowed his eyes. Then, he turned to Tony and mumbled, "We have to go. We have an important meeting with an important someone for an important something."

The asset crossed her arms. "So you can skip it, right? I want to get ice cream."

Iron Man's right-hand man glared at her. "Very funny."

Tony chuckled. "Happy, loosen your asshole, would you? You need to let loose sometime." He ushered the two of his companions out of the lab and into the hallway, apologizing to the asset. "Jack, it seems that our ice cream run has to wait until I get back. But don't worry, we'll do it. I promise." Winking at her, he pulled a pair of tinted sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on his face, waving and proceeding to follow Happy to the elevator.

"Don't break anything," he called. "FRIDAY's watching you."

She had no idea what that meant. But with the man of the house gone, she had the first opening since she'd gotten there. She could look through all his plans, every room in this damned tower. She had to do it fast, but she was faster than most. Like a cheetah stalking its prey.

It was time to hunt.


	11. Pillaging

_[august 2016]_

The first thing she did when she was certain the tower was empty of all possible peering eyes was take another wide glance around Tony Stark's lab, processing as much as she could in as little time as possible. She took note of the stacks of paper strewn about, the discarded pile of material that he'd thrown under his desk when she'd walked in.

It was all there for her, there for her to search, pillage, and find out exactly what made Tony Stark the so-called genius that he was.

A low chuckle dripped from her lips as she rubbed her hands together, preparing to find anything and everything of use to Hydra. For the good of the world. They were the reason the world would be saved, the reason the Avengers would go extinct, scattering their ashes in the wind. Forgotten.

And  _she_ had the honors of starting all of it. Pushing the first domino into place, so she could sit back and watch it all crumble before her.

The first thing she grasped in her strong hands was a manila folder with a yellow sticky note on the front, messy handwriting forming the word "contenders" on it. As if for the building of an army.

"What  _exactly_ are you getting yourself into, Stark?" The asset muttered under her breath.

She slid her fingers over the cover, and a small thought crept through her brain.  _He's touched this very folder. His large, calloused hands have run over the same folder that I'm holding right now. What would it be like, to have him run his hands over me, to have them brush over places more delicate than I care to admit? I've never had that before, even before all this. Even in France_ —

Asset 53 jerked her head up. The folder slipped from her fingers, unopened. Standing up, she shook her head in an attempt to clear it, but it did nothing. She didn't know what was happening.

She was going insane. That had to be it. The cryofreeze had finally frozen too much. She'd gone too far under, she was forever damaged...

Her fingers crawled down to her thigh, inching towards the one thing that was grounding to her in this new world she'd entered. When she brushed her fingertips against the hilt of her knife that was strapped tightly to her leg, though, it only brought her more unease. Hand recoiling at the feeling, she had the unsettling thought that it was a more unnecessary weight on her body than a blended part of her, like she'd believed for so long.

" _Que diable se passe-t-il_?" She breathed, shocked a second later as she recognized the French words. _What the hell is happening?_   _Could it be_ —

"I'm sorry, Ms...Kingston," a woman's voice reverberated around the room, jolting her from her thoughts. "Mr. Stark has asked me to secure this room, as it's full of confidential information that is off-limits to any and all guests."

It took the asset a few seconds to understand the English words, as she was still thinking in French for a reason that was unknown to her. "Who's there?" She asked tentatively, her hands raised as if to fight.

"That won't be necessary, Miss," the voice went on. "I am not a being that can be fought with fists and knives." After a few seconds of silence, the feminine voice continued, "I am FRIDAY. I assist Mr. Stark with anything he needs, including overseeing everything in this tower."

Asset 53 was not one to be rendered speechless. But given that this...FRIDAY lady couldn't see her(right?), she supposed it was a good a time as any to suck in a deep breath and think through it all. So  _this_ was what he'd meant when he told her that "FRIDAY would be watching."

"So...you're a security bot?"

I prefer the term 'technologically enhanced persona,' but yes. That is essentially correct." Her clipped words floated out of her mouth with a breezy Irish accent that the asset only notices then, after the initial shock of being spoken to by a voice in the walls. "Now, if you please, Ms. Kingston, it would be better for the both of us if you step out into the hallway. Can I recommend a recipe for lunch?"

The asset grumbled under her breath, cursing Stark for taking a much bigger precaution than she'd expected, but conceded for the moment and retreated into the hallway, going back to the living space that was open and free for thought.

As she walked, she briefly considered finding the universal power switch for the intelligence but decided against it. It was too noticeable. Hydra operated under the radar, doing their work subtly yet effectively. She would have to do her digging some other time, when this FRIDAY woman, or  _thing_ , rather, wasn't looking.

That meant she'd have to wait until her precious target came back.

* * *

 

In the meantime, the asset tried to keep her mind off of the...incident in the lab. Whatever it took to forget the unsettling thought that had risen to her mind, thinking of France, and whatever else might have followed had she not stopped herself.

She tried everything, including sharpening her knife, cleaning it, even washing dishes(a horribly mundane thing to do, truly showing her desperation to distract herself). But of course, nothing could prevent her from thinking of France, and the thoughts that could have followed her throughout the entire day, haunting her.

It was too long, she realized. It would be too long for her to actively try to keep herself distracted. She didn't have anywhere to search, nowhere to infiltrate, all because of Tony's infuriating sense of security that he felt obligated to uphold.

With nothing to do and no one to talk to(she was  _not_ going to talk to that FRIDAY nonsense), Asset 53 finally found her way to her room. It had been shown to her after she and Tony had a conversation regarding her past life, however fake it'd been. He'd practically shoved her into the space and the asset had smiled gently, in that measured way an assassin would do. She'd said, "Oh,  _merci beaucoup_ , Tony," and flounced right into the room.

He'd stood there, just...watching her.  _He's mine,_  she thought hungrily, noticing the way his eyes pored into her every step. With measured movements, the asset sauntered up to him, close enough to hear his small intakes of breath. He was perfectly still, staring at her, not expecting a thing. If she'd wanted to, there was an opportunity for her to dig her knife straight into his gut, forcing it upward into his lungs.

She could have tasted his blood at that moment, the metallic tang rising to her nose and mouth. But no, her work wasn't done yet. Hydra needed him gone, needed Iron Man dead. But Asset 53 needed  _Tony Stark_  to trust her. He wasn't there yet. And besides, it would be one hundred, one  _thousand_ times sweeter to watch the love blossom in his eyes, just for her to douse it in one swift stab of the knife.

Her bloodlust was one of the only reasons that the famous Tony Stark was still breathing.

 _He's mine_ , she repeated to herself as she lay down on the large king bed in the center of the room.  _I'll get him wrapped around my finger, so obsessed with me that he can't even breathe without my presence._

She stayed put on the bed, used to sitting perfectly still and refraining from all movement as she did at Hydra's compound. For a brief moment, she longed for Mr. Smith, the one man she'd have constant contact with every day until her next mission. There was something familiar...no, intimate, about him. Like she'd known him her entire life.

Unsettled by these types of thoughts yet again, the asset squeezed her eyes shut and tried to keep her mind blank, drifting off into what she expected to be a dreamless sleep.

As she slipped into darkness, the sun shone through the window in her bedroom, landing on a bottle of green cryo pills on the table next to the bed, standing unopened.


	12. Changes

_[august 2016]_

Her eyelids were heavy when she finally managed to open them. Of course, it wasn't without effort that she pushed herself up onto her elbows and rubbed a hand over her face. Squinting at the sun that was at the peak of its setting, she felt a tug at the back of her head.

_"Careful, Jacqueline, too much light will make your eyes revert to darkness."_

_A young girl held a hand over her face, shielding her eyes from the bright rays of the sun that washed over her humble home in her rural village. Picking up her thick skirts in her other hands and scurrying back to the quaint cottage in the middle of the field, she bit back a snarky retort. "Oui, Maman," she conceded._

She pressed a palm to her forehead, panic coursing through her every movement, through every vein and artery inside of her.  _What the fuck was that?_ She bolted up from the bed and yanked the curtains closed. Anything to keep from seeing the sun, and whatever it had just triggered in her mind.

But it wasn't as easy as blocking out the external triggers. She kept hearing the woman's voice in her head, warning that young girl about the dangers of the sun. It was a kind voice, though she was using it to admonish. A kind voice that was laced with familiarity.

And the way the young girl responded, with love in her heart and love in her words and respect oozing out of her movements, it was...unsettling, to say the least.

Not just because she was so unaccustomed to the myths of love, but because the words, the field, all of it was too detailed, too specific to have been false.

 _I know her_ , she thought dangerously as she wiped her clammy hands on her pants.  _I knew her._

"I didn't take you for someone who would take a mid-afternoon nap, Jack." Tony's voice jerked her from her thoughts and she winced as she heard the nickname. Ever the observant man, he knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

Shaking her head, she looked down at her hands— _whose hands are these really?_ _—_ and sighed. "Nothing, I'm just...I think I'll go for a walk down to the bookstore." Her words lacked the conviction that she needed, and she had none of the usual seductive lures in her tone.

"The  _bookstore_? Jack, are you feeling okay?" Tony took a step into her room, his movement hesitant. He'd never walked into her room ever since she first moved into it.

She scowled. "I'm  _fine_." Taking a step back and keeping her eyes on him, she felt the backs of her legs bump into one of the low tables that decorated the sides of the large bed. The room was much too small now. Tony was too close, she was suffocating in his presence, his cologne wafting into her nostrils.

Turning around to put any kind of distance between them, she looked down at the contents of the bedside table. It was completely empty save for the bottle of green cryo pills, the ones she was supposed to take every night when she went to sleep.

Her blood came to a hurtling stop.  _What in Hydra's name is happening to me?_ She fought to curse out loud and give away her every emotion to the man she needed to kill, but it was hard not to clench her hands into fists. The one thing she needed to do, the  _one_ thing she always craved, was the sweet release of thoughts when she went under the ice. Nothing to think about, nothing to keep her from fulfilling every mission given to her by her superiors.

She'd forgotten to take one of the pills. Now she was feeling the effects of it, however slow the process was.

"Uh, okay," Tony replied softly, putting on his usual charm, trying to convey to her the message that he knew she wasn't okay but he knew how it felt to be struggling and to want to be alone, so he wouldn't do anything. Just walk out and leave her be for as long as she needed.

The thought of him doing such a thing, the thought of him actually  _caring_ to do something like it, made her want to throw herself out of the window and catapult down to the ground below where she would flatten on the sidewalk. Of course, she didn't plan on doing that before she gutted this excuse for a hero.

She ignored the images that pressed against her mind, more pictures of the young girl in the house, in the field, in France. More pictures of a kind woman that held the girl close to her chest as she cried. She was a mother,  _her_ mother—

_No._

"I'm just going to go for a walk. I'll be back...later." Still talking with a certain emptiness to her voice, she began walking out of her room, aiming for the doorway that was currently blocked by Tony.

He stepped out of her way without a second thought, but she brushed arms with him as she walked out. The ripple of muscles surprised her, as he didn't boast about his physique, but he was strong in every way possible.

 _Just keep walking,_ she told herself.  _Get out of here so you can take a breath._

When the towering structure of Avengers tower was behind her, she finally let out a breath.

* * *

 

It hadn't taken her long to find somewhere to mill around, looking like a normal citizen of New York City. It actually turned out to be a bookstore, filled with shelves and shelves of books, new and old, to crowd the small space.

She thought it would make her feel claustrophobic, but this was different than standing in that room with Tony. Here, she could  _see_ the things that made the space small. In the tower, she only had a pit in her stomach that caused her to sense the shrinking of the room.

Her hands brushed against every spine she could find, enjoying the way they felt against her fingertips. Some were soft, crumbling with age, while others were hard and fresh off the press. She'd barely been in the store for fifteen minutes when she felt rather than heard the steps of someone coming up to stand beside her.

"Hello, 53," she was greeted.

Her lips curled down in a scowl. She hated that number. She didn't say anything in response, just put the book in her hand back on the shelf and turned to face her visitor. It took her only a moment to place the woman that stood in front of her. She'd been the one to escort her to her room, to the place that she received her orders for this mission. She didn't know her name, but she didn't need to. She knew her well enough.

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" The Hydra agent smiled—no, it was more of a grimace—and turned around to walk out of the store.

There was no other option than to follow her superior. Hesitantly and with much precaution, she found herself being led out onto the sidewalk, where several small tables were set up for people to sit down and talk to each other, all while enjoying the nice weather.  _Horribly mundane_ , she thought, but the snarl that typically accompanied her thoughts was nowhere.

The woman took no time for small talk once they sat down. "Things are changing, 53." She folded her hands on top of the table. "Hydra is crumbling."

She stared at her with nothing giving away the shock that reverberated through her skull as she heard this.  _Crumbling? What does that even mean?_ Then again, why would she ask such a thing? Her head hurt. She had two different people alive inside of her, fighting for dominance.

"As the first successful asset created, I believe you have earned yourself the right to certain pieces of information regarding this change." She spoke so carefully, every word measured so as to keep the power in the conversation. "The ways of Hydra's operations are old. Outdated. But we can do nothing to change that. They will always be associated with a Nazi regime, we will always be painted as a group to be feared." The woman took a deep breath.

"After all these years, Hydra is finally crumbling. For good, I can only pray." Her eyes rose up to look at the mindless woman across from her. "You are one of only two assets making the transition with us. You are one of the only ones worthy of it, 53." Her words drip with a certain pride that makes her squirm.

She finally willed her lips to move. "Transition?"

The stranger nodded. "We are finally moving from a historically monstrous organization to one that will try to be better. We will protect the earth from the threats that these people see as their salvation. We will be good. We will rise up from the ashes of Hydra and become Earth's eternal watchdog."

She wasn't sure how to react. "Who are you?" She asked feebly.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "If I told you, that'd only put me in greater peril. That's the number one rule, 53." When she didn't break the eye contact, though, she sighed. "Emile Boucher."

 _Boucher._ She knew that name. How did she know that name?

"My great-grandmother always spoke highly of you... _Jacqueline_."

She jerked her head up to Emile. " _What_ did you call me?"

"Stop taking your cryo pills," she said, and her voice had taken on a warning tone now. "You don't need them anymore." She stood up and held out a hand to shake. When she only stared at her, she dropped her hand and sighed. "Your mission is still the most important thing to you right now. The extinction of the Avengers is the first step to cleansing the earth of all its threats. After that is complete, we will retrieve you and we will continue our quest to protect the world.

"And be quick about it, Jacqueline. There are other forces at play, trying to tear apart the Avengers from the inside out. You must be the first one to strike. You're running out of time."

Without another word, Emile Boucher stalked off, getting lost in the growing crowd of pedestrians.

Still seated at the table, she took in all that she'd heard.  _Other forces at play_. Tearing the Avengers apart from the inside out was too messy to be Hydra. Hydra preferred all things to be clean and neat, even if the satisfaction of the deed was wildly sweet.

 _Things are changing._ She didn't know what this would mean for her status as an asset.  _I don't want to be this anymore_ , she thought quickly. The thought made her freeze, nearly forgetting to breathe.

The thing that gave her the most pause, however, was that name.  _Jacqueline._ It was the name she'd been told to give to Tony and anyone else she would encounter on this mission. It was her cover, a fake identity for a ghost from the past.

But the way she'd said it, with too much intimacy to be a mere name. She made it sound like it was true, like the name truly belonged to her. But that wasn't possible. She had no name.

She had a number. It was the only thing that was hers.

_But what if I have a name? Life before this, a family, friends, something more than endless missions saturated in the blood of Hydra's enemies?_

It was a thought that chilled her to the bone.


	13. Late Night Confessions

_[august 2016]_

"So you're saying  _Captain America_  is tearing apart the Avengers?" Jack shook her head in mock disbelief, a smirk lining her face. "Doesn't that go against his moral code or something?"

They were in the kitchen, having started the afternoon with some day drinking, which Tony had definitively suggested. The serum had healing effects that kept the asset from being intoxicated, so she'd hoped to get some extra information out of his slippery lips after downing a few beers. To his credit, he had a high tolerance for alcohol, making this process _much_ more slow-going.

Sitting across from her, Tony nodded, a grimace molding his face into an expression of unmistakable frustration as he gripped his beer bottle tightly. "He's got his head so far up his ass that he doesn't see the damage we've done—are still doing—to the world."

The asset tilted her head.  _Sounds like he's got some insight into our problem. He might not be a complete idiot when it comes to cleansing the earth of all its threats._ She adjusted her stance and crossed her arms. "I thought you were saving the world, though."

Her--what was he? Target? Victim? Roommate? He rolled his eyes and swallowed roughly. "Thanks, Jack. But it turns out the people saving the world are the same people making this world the dangerous place it is." He took a long swig, his eyes losing their usual mischievous light as he washed it down his throat.

Jack--Asset 53--felt a twinge twist her stomach in knots at the sight. She pushed it away as she asked, "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"Which part?" Tony stared at her with a certain type of fatigue in his body that it was obviously more than just physical stress. The past few months, all the time he'd spent away from the tower, it was taking a real toll on him. His eyes were never always alert, and his movements, though still sharp like usual, were laced with exhaustion. Tony Stark was running on fumes.

The ghost leaned her elbow on the kitchen countertop and maintained eye contact with him, searching for any clue that would give her information to pass on to her Hydra superiors. Or Emile Boucher, whoever ended up being in charge. She supposed this action looked romantic to him, or maybe he didn't read it as anything at all. "All of it. Captain America  _and_ the United Nations. What's your move, Stark?"

He pondered over it for a second, staring into the neck of his beer bottle. Then, with a long sigh followed by emotionless words, "We need to be reigned in. It's the only way."

 _That's something we can agree on,_ she cocked an eyebrow as she realized it. He may have been a threat to Hydra at some point, but he claimed to have the same goals. Take away the uncontrolled power of the Avengers. But of course, his idea of solving the issue was not going to do anything. She still had her mission to complete. Only a few more weeks until they came for her.

Boucher's voice rang in her head.  _Things are changing_.

Asset 53 let herself, just for a moment, zero in on Stark's face. His eyes were empty and his cheeks were sallow from lack of sleep. Bruises peppered his face like freckles, some only small inconveniences, and some so large they looked like stains on a white shirt. One particularly brutal one enveloped his right eye. When she'd asked about it, he'd only shrugged and said with more nonchalance than she thought possible, "I got shot in the eye."

He noticed her staring this time and stared back, his habit of making everything a challenge failing to fade away even in his most stressful times. Tony Stark could have anything and everything thrown at him, but he still stood again. He refused to be knocked down.

That was why he was so frustrating.

Over the last two months, even with her packing on the seduction to levels of unmatched ridiculousness, he'd never done anything apart from peer at her like she was a new lab experiment to test things out on. He'd rarely said anything that could be perceived as flirtatious, and it was making her skin crawl.

Any man or woman she'd had to seduce to gain intelligence for Hydra had crumbled under her touch within the first week. Desperate to  _feel_ something, to have someone to call their own.

But of course, Tony Stark was not just any man. He'd proven that several times over. Only allowing himself to be within her grasp a few times, never lingering too long in her presence. She'd realized, with a raging fire in her head, that he wasn't staying away from her because he was resisting temptation, no. He was keeping his distance because she was not his first priority. At this rate, she never would be.

And it was that fact that made her feel like gutting him right then and there.

No, not really. She didn't want to kill him for that. She wanted to  _succeed._ She wanted  _victory._ And he wasn't giving it to her.  _That's_ what made her want to run her head through a wall. It was never this hard.

"What do you see?"

The asset was yanked back from her murderous train of thought and into reality once more, focusing on Stark's eyes again. "What?" She asked roughly, her voice scratching up through her throat.

Tony set down his beer and placed his strong hands on the counter, leaning in to face her. Their faces were closer than they'd ever been before.  _No flirting?_ Jack thought smugly.  _Now,_ this  _is more like it_.

"What do you see when you look at me?" He blinked, his brown eyes flicking back and forth between hers. "You do it a lot, you know."

Jack stifled a sheepish grin. She wasn't sure how forced it was. "I didn't know you noticed. Always so focused on more important things, it seems."

She expected him to agree with her statement, but he only shook his head and leaned back, distancing their eyes form one another. "That's how my life has always been, I guess. I always have something that needs my attention." He held her gaze as he continued, "I don't mean to be such a standoff-ish person, Jack. It's just who I am." When she nodded, he asked again, "So what do you see, when you look at me?"

Her response wasn't anywhere near immediate. She pondered over how to best answer the question, savoring this conversation the longer it went on. "I see...a man with too much on his plate. Too much responsibility."

Tony made a face at that, coaxing a chuckle from her chest. "I'm a grown man, Jack. Are you saying I can't handle the responsibilities of being an adult?"

She shrugged. "Well, I don't know if Happy would agree with you, Tony. Sometimes he seems like your glorified babysitter." A smirk rose to her lips as she watched his reaction to her words, relishing in the wide-eyed expression he gave her before he composed herself.

"Now, that's just rude. Happy is my head of security. He makes sure everything is secure. It's very self-explanatory, actually." He picked up his beer and took another sip, looking disappointedly at it after swallowing. "This stuff really  _is_  a depressant." He lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Let's go somewhere."

Jack scoffed. "Right now? At this time of the night?"

"The nightlife of New York City is something everyone should experience, Jack." Tony abandoned his drink on the counter and headed to the hallway. "You'd better wear something nice. We're going all out tonight. I need it."

His tired eyes gained a little bit of the life back in them, and with a renewed energy, Jack followed him into the hallway, finding her way to her room to change.  _This is going to be fun_ , she told herself. She wasn't sure if that was because she was going to get more information for Hydra or because she was going to spend more time with such a fascinating man.

* * *

 

She'd only had one dress. It was the one she'd worn when she first met Tony in the high-end club she'd been instructed to go to. Times were so different then. Simpler, even. With one thought in her head: kill Tony Stark, and begin the extinction of the Avengers.

But now, as she stood there in her tight-fitting dress and seeing the way Tony looked at her, the way she'd been trying to get him to look at her, it was all too complicated. Pictures that she was afraid were memories swirled in her head, and she felt a blush grow under her skin as she watched the way his eyes hungrily took in her appearance.

"Looks even better on you now than when I thought you were trying to seduce a billionaire, Jackie," he grinned, reaching out an arm for her to hook hers through. "Got everything?"

Something in her shifted at the new nickname.  _Jacqueline turned into Jack. Jack turned into Jackie. What was next?_ The weight strapped onto her thigh gave her pause, draining her of the unexpected eagerness she had when going somewhere with Tony. Holding up a finger, she said, "Just a second," and hurried off to her bedroom.

It was an impulsive move, yet one that left her feeling relieved and disgusted all at the same time. Taking off the dagger that she'd had on her thigh the entirety of her mission, she stuffed it in her bedside table, wrapping it between the folds of a shirt. It was heavy on her body and kept her from moving freely.  _I'm not free_ , she reminded herself coldly.

 _But maybe for a night_...

" _Allons-y_ ," Jack beckoned as she returned to the common space, where Tony was waiting for her.  _Let's go._ She took this moment to look him over, the way he leaned against the countertop, his hair gelled into perfection and his posture oozing confidence. She didn't even notice what he was wearing, she just took in his body language and the easy way he stood tall and let a satisfied smile curl his lips upward as he saw her come back.

" _Bien sûr, mademoiselle_ ," he grinned at the use of French.

Jack twined her arm with his, an elegant pair walking out of a building too impressive to be real. But this was real. This moment was happening. And she was choosing to go with him.

When they arrived at the club, it took a while for Jack to settle into the noise of a Friday night in New York City. When she'd been here the first time, it was rather empty, at a low point for patrons at the time. But tonight, the place was filled to the brim with exquisitely-dressed men and women that had a strange obsession with high-end alcohol.

"Care to dance?" Tony asked her eventually when the music changed from a jazzy tune to a slower, crooning melody. He stepped out towards an open area that had been made into a makeshift dance floor by moving tables out of the way. Holding out his hand for her to take, his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her again.

And again, something shifted inside her.  _I always wondered what it would be like,_ she thought _, to have a man smile at me like I was his entire world._

The thought shocked her to her core. She'd never had any thoughts of her own, especially something of this manner. It was the lack of cryo pills, she knew. They were opening chasms in her brain and flooding her mind with images that she wasn't sure whether or not to trust.

"What?" She blinked, trying to remember his question.

Tony, if he was embarrassed, didn't show it. Instead, he grasped her hand in his, pulling her up from the chair she was sitting in. "Dance with me, Jacqueline," he hummed in her ear as he pulled her to his chest.

The name sent shivers down her spine. Taking his hand, Jack followed him to the dance floor and accepted his hand resting on her back, a few words breaking through her mental blockade.

 _If he wanted to drag his hand along my spine, feel every notch and bump, I'd let him. I'd let him do it for hours_.

She was supposed to be scared of that thought, but when he slid his hand down to grip her waist and curve around to the dip of her lower back, she only felt as though he'd read her mind. Or she'd said it aloud.

The music faded away as they swayed together. She wanted to look at him, but she knew she couldn't allow such a thing. Off the cryo pills, she was vulnerable. In the worst way. This night could blow her entire mission.

When Tony brushed his fingers under her chin to turn her head to him, she realized that she didn't care one bit.

He winked at her and whispered huskily, "There's a man behind you that looks like he wants a turn to dance with you."

Jack smirked. "Yeah? What do you say to that, Tony Stark? Is there competition in your midst?"

"No." Tony merely shook his head. "He's much too insecure to handle a woman such as you, Jacqueline." He tugged her even closer as he whispered her name.

Her eyes fluttered closed. "Say my name," she breathed.

It was so quiet that he couldn't hear her. "What?"

"Just...say it."

"And why would I do that?" He asked, drawing out her obvious embarrassment with every word. He was loving this, it was crystal clear.

The girl out of time sighed, resting her cheek on Tony's shoulder and letting something inside of her guide her words. "I...I like the way it sounds when you say it. Like it's...a secret. Something only you can say."

"Jacqueline," he obliged immediately, running a hand up and down her arm, tilting his lips so close to her ear that they brushed against her sensitive skin. " _Jacqueline Kingston._  You are  _exquisite_."

Jacqueline's knees almost gave out at the sound. She almost didn't have the energy to lift her head, but her willpower won out and rose her head to look at him, seeing a certain light in Tony's eyes that had nothing to do with the yellow lights hanging from the ceiling. " _Tony_ ," she replied, tilting her head up. They were sharing the same breaths, so close that their lips would brush together with the slightest movement. " _Tony_."

 _This is your moment,_ a voice in her head snarled at her.  _You finally got him. He's putty in your hands. You could have shed his blood right here on the dance floor. But you got soft. You left your one weapon in the possession of the enemy. They will not be happy with you._

Jacqueline Kingston, the asset, the ghost story, they were one and the same when she leaned up and whispered, " _Non volunt occidere me ad te, Tony._ "

_I wish I didn't have to kill you, Tony._


	14. New Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter set in the past, and it's a bombshell!!! i'll put some stuff in the notes at the end to quick debrief after the chapter to make sure you caught everything!

_[december 1945]_

Centuries had passed.Hydra had evolved. Different than the religion-based organization it had once been, but still fighting for the same goals. Knowledge...among other things.

Over the years, one asset had stood out the most. One asset had lasted the changing times, obeying orders and laying waste to any and all people that posed threats to Hydra's existence. She walked in and out of burning buildings, little more than a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She was more dangerous than anyone had ever seen. More valuable than they'd ever imagined.

Asset 53 was the first one. Hydra's first success in the fight to create a weapon more powerful than anything the world had ever created before. There had been experiments before her, attempts before her to make a soldier like this. But they'd all failed. Before her, and now after her.

The asset was the only one that could be relied on to carry out a task so brutal that it could only be meant for the most inept psychopaths. She was not a psychopath, though. She was a machine, used for Hydra's benefit.

Along with the evolution of Hydra, its own Asset 53 had evolved, her personality developing with the new serums that had been perfected. In the beginning of it all, the only way to make a person immortal was the  _révoltant_ elixir of life that was stolen from Catherine de Medici's own bedchambers, the sorceress of the French throne. But that supply was limited. Inconsistent.

So Asset 53, numerical value placed in the number of attempts to make a weapon stronger than a ten-thousand-man army, was the first to succeed in their endeavors. Fifty-two subjects were tested with the elixir, but none of them survived. None of them could withstand the power of immortality. No one except for Number 53. She was the first.

The elixir had been used up on their first success, so it wasn't long before Hydra was out of options. Go underground and remain out of the public eye, building its army, or face the extinction of everything it had promised to stand for. Of course, they bided their time, waiting for a new way to recreate their most valuable asset, a girl who eventually turned into a woman with all the time spent out of cryo freeze.

Nothing had worked. For nearly four hundred years, there had been no breakthroughs after the elixir of life was used to the fullest. Though they searched, tearing apart the earth for something,  _anything_  to make another soldier as powerful as the one they'd stumbled upon, they came up short, every single time.

Until now. They'd waited for the perfect moment, infiltrating SHIELD for as long as they could, waiting for the day that they could steal what they needed. Finally, in the midst of a world war, they heard news of it. A serum that would solve all their problems. The same serum that turned a frighteningly thin man into the United States military's most useful weapon.

And now, the growing parasite underground had something to latch onto. They had a means of achieving their every goal. It was time for Hydra to rise.

* * *

 

"Wrong. Say it again."

Asset 53 clenched her fists and stared at her instructor, a man who'd been the only other person to receive the gift of the elixir of life. Jacques Dubois had been there from the beginning, teaching her to fight, to manipulate, to be such an unsuspecting force of power that she'd never be caught. And now, centuries later, he was still teaching her to be an expert in language.

" _Я никто_ ," she stumbled over the unfamiliar syllables.  _I am no one._

Dubois grunted, far from satisfied with her attempt. "Sloppy. Your accent isn't..." he searched for the right word. "It's... _incroyable_."

" _Je ne suis pas russe, bien sûr que c'est incroyable!_ " The asset hissed, her natural French words slipping from her mouth easily.  _I'm not Russian, of course it's unbelievable!_

Unimpressed by her outburst, the instructor reached for a metal wand-like tool on the table beside him. Ignoring the asset's stiff posture as she realized what was coming next, he stalked up to her and pressed a button on the weapon, eliciting blue tendrils of electricity that licked the tip of it, inching towards her body.

Asset 53 was not afraid of anything, not when she was on a mission. But when she was in the hands of Hydra, she fought to obey every rule. There was no other way to survive otherwise.

The contraption crept closer to her, her instructor nearly snickering at the outright fear in her eyes as it came within breathing distance of her chest, hovering right over her heart. With a long jab to the skin there, he administered a shock to her chest that made her jaw drop open in a raging scream, filled with anguish and anger.

It had to have been almost a full minute before the wand was pulled away and the asset could gulp down buckets of oxygen, refusing to let tears fall from her eyes from the pain.

The pain was not what cause tears to rise to her eyes. No, the pain was a welcomed atrocity in the midst of everything else. The manipulation, the cruelties she witnessed every day, just for them to be wiped from her mind when she went into the ice again. What made her want to let those salty tears fall from her eyes was the low sense of betrayal that followed her whenever she was with this man, this  _Jacques Dubois_.

He'd been there at the beginning. He was the only person she could actually remember. Everyone else was just a collective blurry face that had no meaning to her. And for him to do this to her, she felt like a promise had been broken.

Dubois interrupted her thoughts before they could become any more dangerous. "Your accent is what will keep you alive on a mission. You are of no use to us if you cannot adapt, 53. This is  _essential_." He laid the shock-giving weapon back on the table beside him. "I can change my accent on the flip of a dime. It is what I need to do, given certain circumstances." He huffed out a breath and continued, "but my name doesn't change my heritage. As important as accents are, we must be cautious of the names we choose. We have to become someone else."

He inched toward the asset, cowering in her chair and brushing a thumb over the scarred skin on her chest where she'd been given shocks for the past...she couldn't remember how long. He put a hand over her shoulder, holding onto the back of the chair she was tied to, and looked intensely into her empty eyes. "So I use Smith."

"Smith." The name rolled off her tongue, unsure of itself. "Smith," she repeated.

Dubois nodded. "Correct. When the time comes, and you need infiltrate a country other than your own, you must learn how to best adapt to the circumstances—"

A sudden squealing noise outside their cement room sounded, growing louder as it got closer to the door. The asset's mind itched, trying to recall what that sound meant, but she was unsuccessful. Dubois, however, made a tutting sound with his tongue.

"Looks like we have another contender," he mused, a hint of a smirk on his dark, sharp features. Then he hummed as he listened, the squeak—of wheels echoing against the floor, she realized—alone in the corridor outside. "Usually they're screaming by now. I guess this one took to the sedation spectacularly."

He straightened up and opened his mouth to continue, but then the squeaks stopped and a resounding, booming knock on the door had the two of them jerking their heads toward the disturbance.

" _Вы можете войти_ ," he grunted.  _You may enter._

The heavy door swung open to reveal a rather small man, a permanent frown etched on his face. A pair of thin, rounded glasses slid down his nose on his balding head. A red bow tie was tied tightly around the neck of a sweat-stained, off-white button down shirt, the knees in his dress pants spotted with wet marks along the legs and ankles.

"Quickly, Dubois," he spoke in a hushed, hurried tone, "we don't have much time. His condition, it's...unstable. I need you to bring..." his eyes slid over to Asset 53, shuddering with the sight of her. "I need you to bring the asset, she will be his mentor."

Dubois made a noise of disbelief. "What makes you so sure this one will survive, Doctor? With all due respect," he sneered, no politeness in his tone whatsoever, "you've failed to recreate Hydra's most valuable weapon, a feat no one has been able to accomplish in the last  _four hundred years._  What's different about this one?"

The doctor blinked, tapping his fingers nervously on his leg. "We have received certain components from SHIELD that will make the process more susceptible...to success." His voice shook as he spoke, eyes flitting back and forth between the instructor and his student. There was no question that he was feeling...under the weather in their presence.

Asset 53 smirked at the sight of his fear, at the scent of terror that rose from his every pore and entered her body. She used that fear as fuel. When she jerked in her seat, she had to hide a whiny, high-pitched roar of laughter at the doctor's reaction. He had to have jumped about a foot in the air.

Dubois sent an icy glare at his pupil and the asset watched his hand twitch in the direction of the electrified rod sitting beside him. Her amusement ebbed into silence, her mind clearing swiftly.

He turned to face the nameless doctor and a nearly animalistic growl slid from his mouth. "Very well," he drawled, "I am finished with the asset for today. Take her." He whirled to face the table of weapons and his shoulders hunched over, refusing to assist the doctor in getting the asset out of the room.

"Er," the doctor hesitated, "can we—can we get some help in here?" His words were meant for whoever was in the hallway, but they weren't loud enough to travel anywhere further than the space in front of his face.

The asset cocked an eyebrow and sneered, "I can walk by myself, thanks."

Dubois finally stepped forward to untie her, tearing the ropes away from her body a little harsher than usual. He didn't look at her as she followed the short doctor out of the interrogation room and into the corridor, where she saw a sight she'd never seen before.

On a wheeled bed—that was the squeaking noise—lay a man, donning a navy blue uniform. His hair was cropped short and his chest rose and fell shakily, his breathing labored. The most obvious thing about him, though, was the blood gushing from his left arm, pouring out of a wound where his forearm would meet his elbow. His entire lower arm was missing.

Something on his neck glinted in the dim light of the corridor, catching the asset's eyes. Leaning down to get a closer look, her eyes caught on a pair of metal tags. Their letters were punched in the alloy and the shadows of the cement corridor made it hard to read them, but she managed.

"Oh, he's a  _Sergeant_ ," she cooed, a malicious grin coming to her lips. "Where'd we find him?"

Her question was ignored, as they all were. Even after all this time, she was not granted an answer to any of her questions.

_Where are we?_

_Can I have another book or two?_

_Why are you killing him?_

_What's my real name?_

_Who am I?_

The bed began moving down the hallway again, and the asset walked alongside it, peering down at the curious looking man. His eyes were closed, giving him the look of sleep on his face.

"I can't wait until you wake up, Sergeant," the asset hummed, clapping her hands together like a young child would. "We're going to be  _such_  good friends. I  _promise_."


	15. Shattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything shatters. Quite unironically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

_[august 2016]_

Jacqueline Kingston felt her shoulders lift as she walked away from Tony, having given the excuse of needing a bathroom break before darting to a place where she wouldn't be bothered.

Unironically, that place happened to actually be a bathroom in the corner of the fancy bar they'd been at for the last few hours. She shoved her body into the door, full force, and grunted when the door took a moment to budge open. A surprised, "Shit!" sounded from the other side, and Jacqueline furrowed her eyebrows, pushing harder until she toppled over herself and stumbled into the bathroom.

It was surprisingly clean for a public bathroom, but she assumed that since Tony Stark was the owner of the club, he'd want all its different pieces to be as clean and organized as his life obviously wasn't.

To her left stood a rather disheveled woman that looked to be in her early thirties, her curled hair cascading over her shoulders, falling out of her carefully-executed up-do. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Jacqueline, as if she was surprised that someone else had found the bathroom.

Behind the woman, the same unkempt look about him, stood a man, seemingly several years younger than her. His dark hair looked freshly raked through, the locks standing on end and flopping messily around his head. His cheeks burned bright red as he noticed Jack standing there, staring right back at them. "I thought you said you locked the door," he hissed to his partner in crime.

The woman shook her head and scowled. "No, that was  _your_ job."

It was then that Jack looked down and understood why the scene was so mortifying—for the two strangers, at least. The woman's dress was rolled up to her hips, her slender and golden tan thighs showing in the bathroom light. Her underwear hung around her ankles.  _Oh._

Jack wasn't the one that made the connection. It was the ghost inside of her that did; it had much more experience with this sort of thing than she did. Sexual intimacies were things that, if need be, were used on missions to gather information. But it was nothing that Jacqueline Kingston knew about.

An image flashed in her mind as she looked at the distraught couple. She saw herself on the bathroom counter top, her eyes fluttering closed in absolute bliss, with her legs wrapped tightly around the waist of a lightly bearded man who pressed his lips to her neck and let his hands wander down her arms to rest at her waist, where her own dress was bunched up, revealing her entire lower body—

Jacqueline inhaled sharply. " _Je regrette_ ," she hissed an apology, the French syllables rolling off her tongue smoother than water. Turning back to the bathroom door, she pushed her way back into the hallway and found her way back to the bar, where Tony was waiting for her.

He obviously had no clue the nature of her thoughts only a few seconds ago, but she could only stare at his lips that had been so close to hers a few minutes ago, that were latched onto her neck in her head, that were so full and pink and—

"I'm tired," he announced sharply, interrupting her thoughts, "let's go." Without one sparing glance at her, Tony downed the last of his drink and turned on his heel, stalking toward the front door of the club. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stepped out into the cooling night air, his head swiveling on an axis as he waited for Happy to roll up with the car. 

Following closely behind him, Jack tried to keep all thoughts of his lips against hers out of her head, but it seemed the harder she tried, the clearer the images became. It suffocated her the whole way home, making her unable to look at Tony in the eyes without the distinct feeling that he could see into her mind, see what her head was making her see. 

He was silent in the car, only answering Happy's small questions with short, snapping responses. The driver soon realized that Tony wasn't going to talk, so he kept quiet and focused on driving back to the tower. 

Even as he opened the door for her, he didn't look at her, his jaw clenched as he looked somewhere beyond her shoulder. He simply led her up to the penthouse, leading her like a parent leads their unsuspecting child. When they reached their living space, Jack went immediately to the couch and sank into the cushions, savoring the way her brain didn't yell at her for giving into such material pleasures. 

Meeting Tony's eyes as he stood across from her cast a shockingly cold blast through her chest; he merely stared at her with something in his eyes that made her blood turn to an icy slush. It was nothing like the usual warmth that he had in them when he looked at her before. It was different. He was looking at her like he didn't even  _know_ her.

"What?" She asked, brushing the wrinkles out of her dress as he sat down. "You're acting kind of funny, Tony."

He scowled. " _I'm_ acting funny?" His hands shook as he continued to speak in his lowering tone, clasping them together in his lap to keep from showing his anxiety. "You wish you didn't have to kill me, huh?"

Jack stopped all movement and widened her eyes. "How—"

Tony stood up and paced around the room. "How'd I find out? Right, Latin is a lost language, so  _how'd I find out_? Well, Miss Kingston, if you forgot, I have a magnificent piece of artificial intelligence in my head that answers my every command."

"Friday," she mumbled under her breath, cursing her ignorance. Of course the hardware was with them all the time. Tony had probably asked for a translation immediately after she left to go to the bathroom. 

Her mission's target sighed and shoved his hands through his hair, messing up the perfectly styled look. "I had her look through your room, Jack—"

"You went through my  _things_?"  _What did he find what did he find what did he find_ —

Tony scoffed. "You mentioned having to kill me, of  _course_ I went through your things!" He heaved in a heavy breath and turned around to gather himself. When he faced her again, the icy fire in his eyes had her wishing she could just disappear. 

 _You're going soft, 53,_ a voice in her head snarled.  _You're letting this mission slip out of your fingers, your superiors won't be happy when they find out you've failed them._ She fought the urge to rip her hair out at the follicle.  _Get out of my head!_

"I found some suspicious green pills that say something about cryofreeze substitution—"

"I stopped taking those," she interrupted, hoping to whoever might be listening to get her out of this horrible situation. Everything was shattering, falling apart at the seams, all because she slipped up, became human, let that weakness show.

Tony ignored her and kept going. "Oh, and there's a foot-long  _knife_ in your bed stand, you want to tell me what that's all about?" He stopped pacing and instead went straight to the bar, reaching for a half-empty bottle of spirits and took a large swig. 

Jack stood up and tried to get closer to him to make him see that she wasn't going to kill him(maybe), she wasn't dangerous, but he held up a hand and took a staggering step back, eyes widening in...fear? "I...I hate that thing," she admitted, latching onto the tingly feeling in her chest that told her to fight, to fight for this man that was suddenly afraid of her, to show him that she could be everything he needed. "I didn't bring it with me tonight. It was just the two of us, I promise." She held up her hands in front of her, reaching for him. 

He just cowered away from her, though he tried to keep his head and chest high, refusing to be seen as a weak man. "Oh, that's better," he sneered, but his eyes didn't carry the same cutting fury. "You decided you didn't want to gut me on the dance floor, no, you thought you'd kill me once you got me back in bed, huh? We'd be in the heat of the moment and you'd slit my throat open, is that it?"

Her cheeks flush red at the thought of being so intimately close with him, but she shakes her head to clear it. " _No_ ," she insisted, "Tony, I don't want to kill you, that's what I just said, I wish I didn't have to—"

He swore under his breath and brushed a hand across his face. "But you  _have to._  That's the deal, isn't it? So you can keep on living? Kill me and get brainwashed again?"

" _No_ —"

"You're Hydra, aren't you?" It was more like a statement than a question. 

Jacqueline jerked her head back like she'd been punched in the face. "What?"

Tony could have taken advantage of her shock, but he just stood there in the dark living room and stared at her, eyes empty. "Hydra. You're one of their...soldiers. Their experiments."

"I..." She wasn't sure how to respond to that. She knew what he wanted, she knew he was looking for her to launch herself into tears and profess her unconditional love for him, because then that would make him want to forget about everything he'd found. She knew he wanted her to be the reason he didn't die, but she knew that she was the reason he  _would_ die. 

Even though she knew this, Tony didn't show any of it. He was too smart to let himself go like that. But she was smarter, she knew everything he didn't want her to. It was how she operated. She knew everything that everyone wanted no one to know. 

"When we were dancing," she spoke softly, unsure of the sudden emotion that flooded her voice, "when I almost..."  _kissed you_ , "that was real. That was Jacqueline."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed back a sob. "Then why'd you stop?" His voice was almost a whisper. 

Jacqueline Kingston looked him in the eye and knew what she had to say. She knew what she  _wanted_ to say, but that was something she could never say. It would make it real, and the only thing she knew was real was pain. So she fed the pain that grew in her stomach as she said, "Because my head was telling me...it was telling me that was the moment you would die by my hand."

He stumbled back and let out a shaky breath, drawing a hand up to his mouth. His eyes shone in the moonlight and Jacqueline felt herself sinking to the floor as the usual, cold voice took over in her head.  _You are gaining control again,_ it praised her _, do whatever you must, and_ kill  _Tony Stark. Complete your assignment, and you will be rewarded._

Any reward she would get from killing this man, she knew, would be nowhere near worth that crushing feeling she would experience after it was done, that shattering in her chest that would remain there for as long as she was cursed to live on this earth.

Happy rushed into the living room with a phone in his hand and his eyes wide. "Tony, we have to go. Secretary Ross is on the phone and he's...he's not happy. You only have a few hours to get Rogers to cooperate. We need to go," he stumbled over his words, taking note of the crumbling scene in front of him. "What do you want to do with her?"

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened them and met Jacqueline's eyes, she didn't recognize him. He was detached, a foreign stranger. "Alright," he said to Happy, "I'm coming." He held his eyes to Jack's as he told Friday, "Lock down the building after we've left. Endgame protocol, you know the drill."

Friday's mechanically female voice responded affirmatively, and all Jack could do was sink to her knees in her expensive dress that she didn't pay for, and watch as the man she—

_No._

The man she lo—

 _NO._  The voice in her head squeezed her brain and stuffed her back into the corner of her head that she'd stayed in for so long. 

Jacqueline Kingston was shattering in the penthouse of Avengers Tower, and the only man that could save her was walking away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think(please?)!


	16. No Witness

_[august 2016]_

"What the hellis the  _endgame protocol_?" She muttered under her breath. Sat on the edge of a chair in the living space of the penthouse, Jack slid her elbows out to rest on her knees so she could rest her face in her palms, letting her fingers slip into her hair and grip it tightly in frustration. "How the  _fuck_  am I gonna get out of this one?"

She kept seeing the last hour on repeat, flashing in the forefront of her mind. Her senses were flooded with every memory from every moment she'd spent with him that night, from the musky scent of his cologne to the shuddering feeling of having his chest so close to hers while they danced. She couldn't stop seeing the way Tony's face fell as he confronted her, realizing exactly what she had been sent there to do.

In all her years on this wretched earth, she'd never experienced something so excruciating as what she'd been put through that night. She wanted to take it all back, to see him look at her with that  _look_ one more time, seeing her as someone he believed she was, no matter how big of a lie it turned out to be the entire time.

She wanted to feel like Jacqueline Kingston in Tony Stark's eyes, the exquisite woman he'd come to believe her to be.

Her subconscious scoffed, chuckling darkly.  _So this is what betrayal feels like_ , it snarled.

 _Betrayal_. Something she'd taken part in giving out for years, but she'd never been on the receiving side. And oh, how it burned her insides, stung her and paralyzed her, refrained her from breathing. She felt the claws of pain dig into her chest, latching onto her in a place that she'd thought was numb and unfeeling for her entire life.

Jack shook herself out of this head space, suffocating in her own thoughts. Staring at the floor, she gripped her hair in her hands and groaned. She knew what—or  _who_ , rather—was coming now. Her assignment's timeline had expired, her two months were up. And Tony Stark was still alive. It didn't matter if he died in his civil war with Captain America, or if he happened to drop dead of his own accord. She was supposed to drive her dagger through his heart,  _she_ was supposed to succeed, Asset 53 did not  _fail_ , she had never  _failed_.

But here she was, a failure with lingering thoughts and memories tangling in her head. An absolute useless lump of flesh. Hydra was coming for her now, she knew that as much. They would come for her, and quickly find out that she had failed. She could hide things from anyone, but not Hydra. She couldn't hide anything from her superiors, much less something as monumental as this.

Asset 53 may have been docile, but Jacqueline Kingston was not a quitter. She lunged off the couch as a plan began to take shape.

* * *

It was raining when they came for her. They arrived at Stark Tower, prepared to storm the building and take what was theirs by force, but they were greeted silently, let in the building and led to the penthouse. When they entered the penthouse, they saw her.

Jacqueline wore a facade as she twirled her knife in her hand, a gentle smirk rising to her lips as she watched the agents come to a slow halt as they laid eyes on her. They had her surrounded. Helicopters had flown onto the landing pad on the roof, and several dozen more had come from the street entrance.

She knew what this particular face looked like. It was hers, but it also was nothing like her. The eyes were cold and teeth sharp, ready to bite anything that dare put a toe out of line.

 _It'll be fine, endgame protocol will reset and they'll be trapped in here,_ she told herself in an attempt to calm her nerves. _You just have to stall for a bit._

 _Let me do the talking_ , a frighteningly familiar voice said in her head, one that was just like hers but held a menace in it like no other.  _When I talk, things get done._

"Hello, boys," the asset drawled, gripping her knife tightly in her hand. " _пора тебе показаться_."  _It's about time you showed up._ She knew that her Russian accent was impeccable after so many years of practice and training.

The black-clad men in front of her shifted their weight. "Mission report," one of them said gruffly. 

"We don't have time," another one piped up behind him, "we'll do all that later. She's waiting for us, we can't fail her."

She couldn't see beneath the mask, but she could tell the first agent's mouth had curled into a sour scowl. "And we  _won't_ ," he protested, "she knows this is part of procedure."

Asset 53 cocked her head and pressed the point of her knife against the pad of her finger. "Care to include me in this rather riveting conversation, gentlemen?"

Their heads turned back to hers. "Mission report," she heard again.

She stiffened and spoke monotonously, "Target is dead. Mission successful. Request to return to headquarters." The words rolled off her tongue easier than she wanted to admit, but this was what she had been trained to do.

"Target is dead? Is that so?" The man sneered, stepping forward menacingly with his assault rifle in his hands, aimed at her heart.

She nodded. Held her breath.

"Tell me, 53, why does our footage show your target walking out of this building as you sit on the couch like a common whore?" His tone was razor sharp as he slashed the words in her direction.

She froze as the words sank in.  _They know. How do they know?_

"We know you flushed your cryo pills down the toilet, we know you betrayed your superiors, and we know...we know you are not just Asset 53 anymore."

When Jack looked up, a pit began to grow in her stomach. Instead of the usual silver patch on their jackets that showed the Hydra emblem, there was a red three-headed dog in its place, the metal pin doing nothing to hide the wrecked fabric underneath where the Hydra symbol was torn off.

She didn't know what was happening, but she knew she was in trouble. "What—"

"That's one thing Hydra did well," the man said nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather and not holding a gun to a woman's head. "They never trusted you as much as they made you believe. There's a lot of good that a camera can do for us, especially when the wearer doesn't know it exists.

_A camera? Where—_

She looked around the room, her first outward sign of discomfort, but she didn't care. The jig was up, it was only a matter of time until she was taken in. But now she didn't know exactly  _who_ was taking her in.

"It's a good thing you can't feel it in your head, Asset 53," he concluded, "that would blow our whole operation."

"Why aren't we just shooting her?" Someone spoke up, clearly getting bored with all the initial niceties.

"We're not supposed to, Boucher wants us to bring her in!"

That name, she knew it. She had a hard time remembering, as she usually didn't have to, but as she traced the name through her brain, she came upon the impromptu visit she'd had with the woman who'd told her that  _things were changing._

She supposed these things were those things.

"B-Boucher?" She stammered, "What does she have to do with this?"

"Trust me,  _Jacqueline_ ," he replied immediately, "you'll find out soon enough." He raised the gun and fired.

* * *

_I can only imagine what Tony's going to think when he gets to the tower._

_He's going to come back, completely drained from whatever he had to do, and he's going to see all the wreckage. He's going to see evidence of my hacking, breaking through the endgame protocol to try and execute my plan._

_I may have just executed myself, with the way things turned out._

_Tony's going to think I escaped, that I'm running about somewhere, going free in a world I know hardly anything about thanks to my past. He's going to realize he failed to keep me in his grasp._

_His driver, Happy, he's going to freak out as per usual, and he's going to want to go after me. He's going to advocate for finishing the job and killing me, like I was supposed to do to Tony._

_I hope Tony trusts me. I hope he knows that I would never kill him, not after everything I went through while in his presence. Even if he doesn't trust me, even if he thinks I'm the most despicable thing to walk the earth, I hope he stays at the tower. He doesn't need to come after me. He doesn't need to kill me._

_Where I'm going, I'm betting I'll be dead soon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna do a point of view change for the last section and do it in tony's pov, but i decided not to cause i thought it would mess up the natural flow of the story(we've never heard the story in tony's pov throughout the book, so there's no point).
> 
> wow, that's the last chapter!! but of course, there's a cliffhanger. like usual, i guess. i don't know how to write happy endings. also, i gave the first clue as to who the unknown rogue group is that has jack and bucky in captivity! can you guess what their name is? it's hinted at earlier in this chapter!
> 
> okay. there's an epilogue after this, and then i'm going to do a "bonus chapter" type thing to tie up one more loose end that i haven't addressed yet, but it's more for your guys's entertainment because it'll turn out to be a cool idea. that bonus content will be posted on here when the epilogue is up and posted.
> 
> read carefully. there is not a sequel to this book. however, that does not mean that this is the last you will see asset 53/jack! i have more in store for her! plus, i would hate myself for never wrapping up her story and leaving it after this book. there's so much more i want to explore with her character, i feel like she kind of writes herself!
> 
> alright, thank you for reading!! FFH IS OUT AND I HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET SO NO SPOILERS BUT I AM SO EXCITED AND ITS MY BIRTHDAY SOON SOOOOOO


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the last chapter! i hope you enjoy!

_[date unknown]_

It was darkwhere they took her, where she finally opened her eyes and found nothing familiar surrounding her. Only shadows greeted her in a dimly lit room.

The first thing she felt was the floor beneath her. As cold as ice and hard as stone. Unbreakable.

The first thing she saw was a single bulb, hanging from a thin wire embedded in the rock ceiling above her. The light cast a gentle glow on her and her surroundings, but the corners remained in shadow.

The first thing she smelled was the dank humidity of the stone room. It smelled wet, as if there was water nearby.

The first thing she heard was the hum of electricity—obviously from the light source above—and the  _drip, drip_  of water, confirming the close proximity of nourishment.

The first thing she tasted was a metallic substance in her mouth, and she recognized it as blood. But the flow had stopped, and she spat the red stuff out onto the stone floor next to her, watching it splatter across the hard surface.

She coughed violently, her throat scratchy and rough when she swallowed carefully, trying to catch her breath. Pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, she looked down at herself: thin, yet lean legs splayed out in front of her, unfamiliar clothes draped over her small frame, filled with dirt and drenched with sweat. Her feet were covered with white socks, the clean color catching her off guard. They seemed to glow in the yellow light overhead.

Her hands found the solid ground, pressing against it to bring herself to a sitting position. Squeezing her eyelids shut for a few seconds, she felt the pressure leave her head and the blood return to the other parts of her body, but it left a slight throb in her skull, an ever-present pulse that refused to die down.

There was nothing but dead air surrounding her frail body—pile of bones, more like—the only sound coming from the light bulb and the constant sprinkle of water droplets onto the floor. She felt as if she should hold her breath, only letting herself inhale small bits of air at a time.

_Water._

The presence of a voice in her head startled her, causing her eyes to widen, scanning the cellar for another person in her midst. But there was no one, and nothing, to be found. Just a voice that might have sounded like her own—if she knew what her voice sounded like.

 _Water,_ the voice insisted,  _water._

She pricked her ears for the location of the drips, and saw a minuscule puddle forming near the edge of a shadow behind her, merely the size of her fist. It was about five feet away from her, which meant she'd have to move. She didn't know if she could hold herself up—in fact, she didn't know  _anything_  right now.

It was painful and tedious work to fold her legs up underneath herself, forcing herself to her feet. When she was on her hands and knees, she reached out to feel for the rock wall beside her, and once she could feel the cool stone against her palm, she tightened what little muscle she could find in her fingertips to push herself up to her feet.

This position didn't last more than a second before she collapsed against the wall, her legs giving out. Sliding to the floor, she felt the skin on her palm rip from a sharp edge, and soon the metallic smell of blood filled her nostrils, overwhelming her senses. She gagged at the stench of the boiling red blood, and keeled over, heaving nothing out of her empty stomach. Dissatisfied, but managing to lift her head up again, she took one glance at her bloodied hand and flinched, pressing the wound to the hem of her shirt. Now with only one working hand, she decided the only way she would be able to reach the water would be to crawl on her hands— _hand_ —and knees.

Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to ignore the scent of fresh blood and turned onto her three remaining limbs, crawling at a glacial pace to reach the clear water, every thought a fantasy of the taste.

After expending her utmost effort and energy into the task, she collapsed by the puddle, and leaned as far forward as she could in an attempt to touch her scalding, dry tongue to the water. She could practically taste the sweet water on her tongue as she leaned closer, closer—

There was a sharp pain to her skull as she was yanked back by her hair, her breath hitching in her throat. With a  _tsk, tsk_  there was the deep voice of a man that spoke. "Now, that wouldn't be much fun, would it?" She could hear a smile in his voice as he continued, "No, we're going to play a game, 53. We'll see if you're... _worthy_ of such luxuries."

A pitiful whimper fell from her lips as she registered the pain and what the man's words meant for her. She wasn't going to be getting out of this situation very soon, it seemed.

She would have looked up at the man holding her hair in a death grip if it was possible, she would have spat in his face and torn herself out of his presence if it was possible. She would have done anything to get back to the last thing she remembered.

 _A man with knowledge unlike any other man's, a man with too much responsibility on his plate. A man that looked at her in earnest, a man that looked at her like she was human. A man with whom she felt_ free.

Black boots stepped into her vision, making a thick  _clunk_  on the rock floor. She tried to scurry away from this new stranger, but the man holding her hair had a tighter grip than she'd thought, holding her in place.

"It's a shame we had to go through all this, 53," the faceless man tutted, his words warped around an accent, that, had she been at full capacity, she might have recognized. Now, with everything swirling in her head, it was foreign to her. Her capturer kept his face in the shadows of the small room as he went on. "Now, if you don't mind telling me about these?"

A light object fell from his hands and landed on the floor between them—a thick folder, it's contents slipping out of it from the impact. Her memory was tripped as she looked closer at a picture of a long-haired blond man with scales on his arms and a billowing red cape behind him. 

She'd forgotten about the existence of this. She could hardly remember where she'd gotten it.

"Where does a nice, obedient soldier like you find something as...monumental as this?" He interrupted her thoughts with an eerily nonchalant voice.

When she tried to speak, only a hoarse whimper came out. She licked her lips and forced her vocal chords to work as she whispered, " _Water._ "

Her vision went black for a moment or two, she couldn't tell. Her cheek blossomed in pain and blood bubbled at her lips. The other perpetrator holding her head tugged her back in place, staring at the folder at her feet.

The man in front of her huffed a breath, inhaling sharply and letting it out shakily. "You'll get water once you've  _earned it_ ," he hissed, losing his patience. "When were you going to turn these documents into your superiors, huh?" A steel-tied boot nudged them closer to her. "What, you planned on stocking up on information that was crucial to the good of the world? And then what, you were going to... _rebel?_ " He let out a breathy chuckle, but the amusement was stale in the dank room.

She opened her mouth again, but her head jerked to the side once more as her cheek went numb with pain. "I..." she rasped, "I don't know what that is."

 _Skjulestedet for torden gud._ The hiding place of the God of Thunder.

The man in front of her let out a frustrated roar. " _Bullshit_ ," he bellowed, "you were hiding this in your chambers for  _months_ , refusing to turn it in. You are a danger to us all, 53. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Her next few breaths were ragged, heaving in and out of her wrecked lungs, her sore throat.  _I'd forgotten it was even there,_ she told herself, thoughts racing.  _I must have left it on my bed before going on my next mission._

"It's a damn good thing we found it before Hydra went down in flames, though." He took a step back, further into the shadows of the room, darkness enveloping his face. He sighed, crossing his arms. "You know, 53, I like you. You've got the potential to be useful. You're the only remaining Hydra agent, and that's got to count for something."

 _The only one?_ "I'm...I'm what?" Her voice was still scratchy and hoarse.  _Last time I checked, Hydra was full of agents, booming with business and countless people who wanted to save the world from itself. Now he's telling me I'm the only one left?_

She was sure her hair would start to pull from the roots if this guy behind her didn't let up on his grip. "You're the only one left of those fuckers," he hissed, bringing his head closer to her ear, his rank breath shrouding her face. "Things had to change, so we took it into our own hands. The students became the masters, if you will."

 _Things were changing._ That's what that woman,  _Emile Boucher_ , had told her. 

In front of her, the stranger sneered. "It was a personal pleasure to see your precious  _Mr. Smith_ go down with the rest of them." Sighing, he continued. "I was surprised, really. I thought he'd want to get the hell away from the people who'd put him in your hands. But it seemed as though he had a bit of an... _attachment_  to his former employers."

Her head was spinning with all this new information. Mr. Smith, the pet-like man she'd kept in her room for what felt like forever was dead. Hydra was dead. Everything had changed, and she was in the middle of it, with no idea how to get back on track. 

You're a real question mark, 53," he said, clearing his throat. "But we'll just have to manage." When he spoke again, he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to his companion. "Let go of her," he said, and the back of her scalp went momentarily numb as the pressure was suddenly released. "We need to separate ourselves from Hydra and everything it stood for. We are not our predecessors. For  _you_ ," he pointed at her withering figure on the ground, "that means we need a fresh start."

She sat there, chest rising and falling in the damp cellar, confusion riddling her head. She tried to remember how she got here. Everything was different, but she didn't know how long it took for everything to get this way. She couldn't remember anything past those men in black coming to get her and bring her—here? 

"Prep her," he told his partner. "We need to get this show on the road." He picked up the folder at her feet and blew a tense breath out of his mouth. "Looks like we've got a head start, fellas. Let's go to work.

"It's time for the Avengers to fall."

The two men stalked out of the room, leaving her in the dimly lit area, her heart rising to her throat and her stomach sinking to her feet. She brought her hand to her mouth and resisted the urge to vomit.  _This is not good,_ she screamed at herself,  _this is so, so, so bad. He doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't know anything, is he even still alive?_

She didn't know who she was anymore, but she knew one thing. He had to be warned. She put her head in her hands and frantically tried to call out to the one person she could remember anymore. She knew it wouldn't do anything. But it was all she had left.

_Tony, they're coming, they're coming, Tony, be careful, you have to warn the others, Tony, Tony, Tony..._

_Stay safe, Tony. I'll find you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading, you guys! i hope you enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it. this story is loosely connected to my duology on here, the first book being HAVEN, and the sequel being SALVATION which has only a few chapters updated so far. please feel free to read those if you want to see more of jack!


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